


The Kind That's Not Undone

by creampuffer



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fingering, First Time, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Reincarnation, canon compliant death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 15:16:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2233767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creampuffer/pseuds/creampuffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter where Merlin is, no matter when he is, Merlin always finds Arthur. He may not look the same or even have the same name, but Merlin knows it's Him. Only, no matter how hard Merlin tries he always loses Him, waiting until the time is right to once again walk the earth together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kind That's Not Undone

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the After Camlann Merlin Big Bang, this is reincarnation fic. Yes, there is canon major character death. But it also has an HEA. There will be more notes at the end, ones that can be spoilerish so beware. If I am missing any appropriate tags, please let me know and I will add them.  
> This fic is a labor of love that started long before sign ups for After Camlann. It started as a simple idea and then grew into this massive thing that just would not end. I would be remiss in not thanking several people for their help. First, [melooza](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Melooza/pseuds/Melooza), who encouraged me to sign up and has always been my writing buddy/pre-reader. Next, [sapphirescribe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphirescribe/pseuds/sapphirescribe), who beta'd most (some she did not but that's on me for waiting til the last minute to add). She gave me lots of great advice and helpful comments. Then there's [ememmyem](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ememmyem), my lovely cricket, who brit picked and made sure i added u's and changed z's to s's. She did research for me and also asked around for information that was useful in the writing of this fic. I love you all. Couldn't have done it without you.  
> Thank you also goes to [twelvegullies](http://archiveofourown.org/users/twelvegullies/pseuds/twelvegullies). I was so happy to work with her and have her lovely [art](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2229843) complement my fic. 
> 
> Title comes from "Love They Say" by Tegan and Sara  
> I made a fanmix for my own story because...why not? These songs all helped inspire me, especially About Today by the National. You can check it out [here](https://8tracks.com/creampuffsteph/the-kind-that-s-not-undone)

**795 AD**

He goes by Deorwine now, Sacrist of this Monastery. And _He_ is an oblate, found lost wandering the countryside while just a young child. The Abbott took him in, taught him the ways of hard labour and a life of poverty. It is such a contrast to the man Merlin knew that Merlin almost does not recognise him. Instead of golden hair, there is a shorn head.The aristocratic nose replaced with one that is too large, flatter. And fine, fair skin is weather beaten and browned from spending most of the hours under a harsh sun. But the eyes; the eyes are the same piercing blue Merlin knew.

Their paths do not cross often, but Merlin makes sure to offer kind smiles to the oblate Eadric. The young man always looks tentatively back, eyes searching for something he is unsure of. It is difficult for Merlin to continue walking, to not turn around and beg for a friendship they once had and might possibly never have again. For Merlin is quite old and Eadric is just a young man, barely past the point of boyhood. They do not have much time left to get to know one another.

And yet, they do form a friendship. Of a sort. Merlin oftentimes takes long walks through the cultivated land, admiring the gardens the rest of the Monastery keep. Eadric is usually there and, though shy, converses with Merlin as much as time permits. He is not so lonely here with young Eadric to share his time with. He finds himself smiling more often, looking too animated for the rest of the monks present. It is hard to temper his mood when Merlin knows he is back. Perhaps this is what was meant in the prophecy. Perhaps this is the time the Future King is meant to be on the earth.

But then Vikings turn up, no warning whatsoever, and Merlin is afraid. There have been stories of savage men invading England. How these animals burn and steal and leave much death and destruction in their wake.

“Father Deorwine!” Eadric is shouting. Merlin has never heard Eadric raise His voice, not ever.

He hurries, as fast as his legs can carry him, outside to find a wild-eyed Eadric standing upon the hill.

“Do they advance?”

“Yes, Father.”

Merlin nods, thinks of his magic and how he can fix this, when he hears a whispered _no_ fill his head. Frowning, Merlin says, “we must flee this place. Come, Eadric. Let us find shelter until these savages have taken their fill and leave us.”

Really, he should have known better. Eadric shakes his head fiercely. “No, Father. We must defend our home.” He picks up his metal shovel and runs to join the others who are already fighting battle-ready men.

“Eadric! Stop!”

Eadric turns to look at Merlin and shouts. “I must. You know I must,” and continues on his way.

Yes, Merlin thinks sadly, he does know.

\--

In the end, Merlin does use magic. Though not enough to keep Eadric from feeling the blow of one of the Viking’s axe. He finds Eadric, splayed out, drenched in blood, eyes still alert in his head.

“I did not wish this for you.” Merlin cannot stop the tears as Eadric blinks slowly at him. “I never have.”

“It is alright, Father Deorwine. I have done my duty to this Monastery. And to you.”

The tears fall in earnest. “I had thought you’d be spared from this.”

“Do not cry for me, Father. I go to my rest.” He will not though. Merlin knows this as strongly as he knows his own magic. “I should like you to pray for me.” Eadric’s eyes close. It takes longer and longer for him to open them.

“And I should like you to call me by my given name.”

“Deorwine.”

“No. Not that name.”

The blue of Eadric’s eyes are hazy and unfocused. He is not long for this world.

“You know it, Eadric.”

He nods, closes his eyes and whispers, “Merlin.” He does not open his eyes again.

“Goodbye, Arthur.”

Merlin will see Him again.

**840 AD**

Ironic that he should end up in this village; a Viking village. He holds no great love for the people responsible for tearing down his Eadric, even if these are not the same men as before. Well, there is one who is the same. Though he does not know it. He does not recognise Merlin, who is known only as The Blacksmith to most in the village. Just as well he only comes to Merlin when he is in need of new weapons or repairs.

Alrik, as he is called, is everything a Viking should be. Fierce in his beauty, it almost pains Merlin to lay eyes upon him. Taller, broader of shoulder, his muscles strain against his rough hewn clothing. His hair, a dull gold so long it must be tied back in many braids to keep out of his scarred face - though most of them are not visible for the thick beard he wears. And still those blue eyes.

He is a free man, owns his own farmland which was given to him upon His father’s death. Though he is mighty in raids, Alrik is not a cruel man. Merlin sees it in the way Alrik interacts with others, kind words for children and a strong protective streak for the women. He does not interact much with Merlin outside the forge but seeing him act so much like Merlin’s Arthur makes something inside Merlin ache with joy and sadness mingled together. Alrik is a good man and it makes hating these people harder. More confusing as well.

“Blacksmith!” It’s Alrik, come back from a raid. He stinks of blood and dirt, looks even worse, and is holding several weapons in need of repairing.

Merlin nods. “Alrik.”

“As quickly as you can, Blacksmith, the King sends us west on another raid just three weeks hence.”

Their “leader” will be the death of these Viking men. Not enough time between journeys for those sick or wounded to recover. But what can Merlin do? He is nothing but a simple blacksmith, made to do whatever he can in order to appease their King. For today, that means supplying men with tools and weapons to help their cause.

Even if that cause equals rape and pillage.

Merlin shakes his head. He does not take any pleasure in knowing his hands help destroy lives, even if they would do so without his aid. Would that he could settle down away from people who seek to conquer others...if such a thing were ever possible. It is the nature of the beast, he supposes.

“Do not worry, dear Blacksmith.” Alrik’s hand lands heavily upon Merlin’s shoulder. The touch is so unexpected Merlin starts and drops his hammer. He watches, wide eyed, as Alrik bends to retrieve it, and with a smile hands it back. “You have great skill. I know you can accomplish this task.”

This is the most He has ever spoken to Merlin since coming to this place. It leaves Merlin dumbfounded.

“You are a good blacksmith, a good man.”

“Thank you?” He does not know how to respond. But the words seem to please Alrik, as he looks over Merlin’s tools and smiles again.

“It is I who is most grateful. Your weapons keep me alive, Blacksmith.” He nods, a satisfied look in his eyes. “I shall come to collect these before we depart.”

“Yes, of course.”

Alrik turns to leave. Merlin is left feeling bereft, as though he will never see the man again. Silly, he knows he will.  Still, he calls out a parting, “safe journeys!”

“Gratitude, dear friend. No doubt I will come calling upon your services upon my arrival.”

\--

He returns two days before their ship is scheduled to depart, far too busy to stay and converse with Merlin. He does call him dear friend again, though; smiles enough to bring a softness to his face. He embraces Merlin quickly before departing and a quiet “Arthur,” slips from Merlin’s lips. This feels like a final goodbye, he does not know why.

When Alrik responds with, “Merlin,” he knows it is.

\--

Several months pass before the ship carrying Alrik and the rest of his men return. Alrik is not among them.

**937 AD**

He is a priest in Winchester. Funny how he tends to end up in holy places when his first life was spent hiding in fear of persecution for his beliefs. But here, Merlin is safe. Under the rule of King Athelstan, religious centers flourish. Athelstan sends members of his council to the outlying churches to make peace and offerings so that the lands may be united under one ruler. Merlin believes it is a wise choice. He approves of it even more when he walks into Merlin’s church one morning in the early Spring.

“Father Auden.” The man does not know it, but he just addressed Merlin as “old friend.” Merlin chose the name for this exact reason. The name sounds right coming from him, loud as he speaks in the quiet church.

“Come, Edmundus, we have been expecting you.”

Merlin leads Edmundus to the chapter house, where food and drink are already set out to nourish the traveling council member. They discuss the running of the church while Edmundus drinks deeply from His cup. The blood red liquid stains His lips and Merlin is so distracted he does not hear the question posed to him.

“Did you hear me, Father?”

“Forgiveness, my mind was otherwise occupied. What did you say?”

“I asked if you had room available for me to retire for the night. The journey back, I fear, is too taxing for my men and horses tonight.”

Merlin nods and moves to stand. Edmundus waves a hand at him, though.

“Please, there is no need to rush. Stay awhile, converse with me yet.”

They linger long into the night, past the point of what is considered appropriate for a man of God who should be devoting his time to his studies. Still, he cannot find a good enough reason to excuse himself. Even as the candles that light the room burn low, Merlin finds himself fixated on the way Edmundus speaks of life at the castle. It is so familiar to the life Merlin once knew and loved, he feels his heart clench in agony.

Eventually they part ways, Merlin leading Edmundus to a humble room to retire. Bidding good night is hard, knowing the day brings his departure. Merlin enjoys his company. As he always has.

But though Edmundus leaves at first light, He returns often to spend time in Merlin’s company. He is quick to let others at the church know he is there on official business from the King. But when they are alone, matters of country and church are the furthest thing from either of their minds. It is to the point where Merlin counts the days until his return.

Then, one day, many months after their first visit, Edmundus comes to Merlin, though not alone. With him are two young women dressed in precious fabrics from the East.

“Father Auden!” He sounds boisterous, though in his eyes Merlin sees a great sadness.

“Edmundus.” He bows. “Who are your lovely companions this day?”

“The King wishes to extend to you a gift. This is Farah and Laila.”

The women bow. Merlin scowls. He calls for one of the other priests to show the women to the chapter house, to await Edmundus and Merlin. He wants to know the meaning behind this supposed gift.

“Speak plainly, Edmundus. Why has the King sent these women to my church?”

Edmundus sighs. “The King wishes for you to marry, to secure your place amongst his trusted advisors.”

Merlin is shocked. “But I do not wish it! My duty is here, you know this.” In a bold move, he reaches out and clasps Edmundus’s arm. “Arthur.”

It is always in times of great honesty that Merlin finds his mind and tongue twisting his lives back to the beginning.

“I do know. I tried telling the King otherwise. He would not listen. Honestly, Merlin, he is so like fath- “ Edmundus’s eyes go blank for just a moment. But it is enough for Merlin to see whatever past he was remembering is now gone.  

Edmundus uses his free arm to reciprocate Merlin’s physical affection, holding tightly to Merlin. The heat from Edmundus’s hand burns right to the center of him. “But I suppose if he hears the dismissal comes directly from you, he will have to consider something else.”

“Thank you.” Merlin will not say his name again.

“We will not tarry then. Call your men and have them bring Farah and Laila back. We will return to the castle and hopefully this subject will be broached no more.”

Edmundus is right. The King does not push Merlin to marry again. Though nor does Edmundus return. Instead he goes to Brunanburh to defend his king and country. And though Athelstan is victorious, Edmundus is not. He is slain. Merlin is alone in his church, never to personally accept a visit from the King’s men again.

**1031 AD**

There is an old man, they say, who tells the most beautiful tales you have ever heard. He travels alone, though blind, from village to village sharing stories of days long past; stories believed to have been nothing more than myth. His words hold such power that those who hear them feel they have transported back in time. To Camelot. And King Arthur.

Merlin goes in search, anxious, because he knows this man is _Him_. Who else could speak so wondrously of Camelot?

He finds the man in a small village, sitting at a dirty table in the local tavern. He does not drink or eat. He simply sits there as if he is waiting. And when Merlin walks in and the man’s cloudy blue, sightless eyes turn to him, Merlin knows he is the one.

“Have you come to hear my stories, young man?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ve never found much reason to address me as such before. Don’t start now.”

The breath Merlin draws is ragged. “Arthur?” Could it be he remembers? How cruel if this should be his true purpose, to wander and regale others of Camelot’s glory. Merlin did not think that would be the meaning behind the prophecy.

The man frowns. “No. I am not Arthur.”

“Then who are you?”

“I have been called many things, though no one knows my real name. I do not even know it.”

This poor man, how long has he lived like this; blind, confused, lost.  Merlin knows it is Arthur, despite the man’s refusal. It makes it that much harder to hear him speak.

“Will you share your stories with me?”

The man nods. Then he speaks. As he talks, Merlin notices people gathering around them; drinks forgotten and chairs pushed together to make room. The man speaks softly, though no one strains to hear. His voice carries to all. And his stories...they are like magic. Every word he shares is truth. Every breath he takes breathes life into a world Merlin would see returned if only he could find the way.

He speaks of the Knights of the Round Table, loyal Gauis, fair Gwenevere, and the treacherous Morgana. Merlin closes his eyes and he sees them all still. How he misses them. It is a burden to continue on this path without close friends and mentors.

“And then there was Merlin,” the man speaks, face turned to Merlin himself. “The most trusted, loyal, self-sacrificing friend the King had ever known. He loved his King enough to risk his life, several times over. And his King loved him back for it. They were dear friends who did not deserve the end they met.”

Merlin can feel his eyes heat with tears. Did this man speak as if from Arthur himself? Or something else? Merlin would do anything to respond in kind. To tell Him that, yes, Merlin did love Arthur. Loves him still. Searches for Him. Finds Him. Only to lose Him. It is the worst pain Merlin has ever known.

He hangs his head low to hide his tears and listens on as the man finishes his story telling. When the others return to their tables, Merlin looks up into the wizened face of the man.

“Where do you travel to now?”

“I do not know.” The man stands.

“May I come with you?”

A gnarled hand reaches for Merlin, finds his face and pats at wet cheeks. “Where I go, you cannot follow. But do not worry, Merlin, for He comes to you again soon.”

The man turns and leaves. Merlin buries his head in his hands and weeps. How long until they both can rest?

 

**1143 AD**

Merlin is living with a family that is accused of heresy. After all his years of hiding who he is, it comes to this; being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He would laugh if he was not so worried.

He does not worry that he will meet his end here. Whether he dies now or later is of no consequence. Only...he has yet to find Arthur in this iteration. And he feels it his duty to do so in every life. That means he must escape. But escaping means revealing his magic. That is something Merlin is not prepared to do.

“You are Stuart Gregory, are you not?” Merlin hears a low voice call out.

“Aye,” he nods, looks up and exhales loudly.

There he is. His judge. Him. _Arthur_. With hair so dark it is almost black, pale skin to the point of translucency, strong nose, square chin, and...blue eyes.

Merlin should not feel relief at seeing the one who holds his life in the balance. Yet he does. He always has and always will.

“I am Lord Mannering. I have come to hear your testimony and weigh the truth of your words in court.”

He leads Merlin out of his prison and to a small room off the hallway. When they take their seats, Merlin cannot stop himself staring at him. It is good to see him healthy after how devastating He was as the old man. Merlin nearly smiles.

“Explain yourself.” Blunt, no finesse.  He was always a bit of an arse, wasn’t He? Really, Merlin should not find his predicament so amusing.

“I do not hold myself in league with the others, Sir. You should know they were only providing shelter as I sought repairs on my own home.”

Merlin sees suspicion in those blue eyes. “You speak quite ardently. Almost as if you were speaking truth.”

“I do, Sir.”

Lord Mannering continues to search Merlin for some sort of tell. “What happened to your home,” he finally asks.

Merlin drops his head to conceal the lie on his face. “Fire.”

“And what of your family?”

“I have none.” This, at least, is the truth. “My father left when I was but a boy and my mother has passed. I am alone.”

When Merlin looks up, he sees a sadness in Mannering’s eyes. “For that, I am sorry. Truly. I lost my mother when I was but a babe.” Mannering pauses, looks confused, then says, “I do not know why I just shared that with you.”

More than anything else, in this moment, Merlin wishes he could comfort Him. Arthur has always been tormented by the loss of His mother. It’s something that is apparently true for this one as well.

Throat clearing draws Merlin’s attention back to his stern face. “Be that as it may, you have been found in league with those that are charged with heresy. Why would you stay at a house such as theirs?”

“I was unaware of their crime. Please, you must believe me.”

“I -” Mannering cuts off, looks around the room avoiding Merlin’s eyes. “- find that I do. For some reason.”

Merlin nods, hope flaring in his chest.

“However, it is not up to me to decide innocence or guilt.”

Just like that, Merlin fears again.

“I understand. And thank you for listening to my story. It is not often one comes across a Lord who would hear out the pleas of a commoner.”

“I do not hold myself above any man.”

“No, you never did, did you? Not when it really mattered.”

They stare at each other, neither knowing what to say. Why does Merlin always let his tongue slip like this? He loses himself, becomes too honest. One of these times it will get him in trouble.

Mannering stands. “You must go back to your room now. But I will speak to the others about you, try and sway their opinion.”

Thank the Gods. He is a good man. “Much gratitude, Lord Mannering.”

“Please. Call me Robert.”

Merlin smiles.

**\--**

He is smiling even as he goes to recline on the small bed made up for him. When he hears angry shouts in the night, Merlin stops to frown. The people making noise are coming ever closer, calling for justice. Calling for death to the heretics. That means Merlin.

Frantic, Merlin stands and runs to the wooden door that holds him captive. He looks through the small barred opening, checking for witnesses. Opening the door is a small matter. Explaining how he opened it is another. He needs to escape unnoticed before the angry mob enters the prison and kills them all.

There is the surge of power as his magic comes forward, tingling at his fingertips and on the cusp of being released, when he sees blue eyes looking in on him. Merlin calls his magic back hastily.

“They come for you and the others.” The lock in the door clicks open. “You must depart from here quickly before you are seen.”

Robert Mannering stands before him. Once his Captor, now his Rescuer. Merlin wants nothing more than to embrace the man who could not fail him.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because you are not guilty. You do not deserve to die.” Robert enters the room and pulls at Merlin’s arm to get him moving.

“The others?”

“I cannot speak for them.”

A great sadness sweeps through Merlin. They will die at the hands of religious zealots. Merlin wants to do something to save them, can do something. And yet, it is not up to him to do so. He knows the truth of it as his magic withdraws within himself, leaving him vulnerable and dependent on Robert’s protection.

“Do you wish to die tonight?” Robert is pulling harshly on Merlin’s arm.

“No. I do not.”

“Then let us take leave from this place at once!”

Robert leads Merlin down dark hallways, twisting and turning and narrowly avoiding running into other guards who try in vain to hold off the mob of angry villagers. Merlin sees a faint light ahead and races behind Robert even though his legs ache and his lungs burn from the quick pace they have been running. They near the door - almost there, almost free, will Robert come with him? - when a presence in the shadows comes forward and trips them up.

“Going somewhere?”

Merlin doesn’t know who this man is, doesn’t care to find out. He pushes up, goes to move, when the stranger kicks out at him.

“I think not.”

Pain radiates down Merlin’s side as the man kicks him again. He wishes Robert wasn’t here so Merlin could defend himself properly, flee without trouble. He has always come to Merlin’s rescue, though, even when it was not convenient. Why should now be any different?

There is a loud thud, followed by the sound of scuffling, and Robert shouting, “Go, Stuart, _go_!”

But he cannot. How is Merlin expected to leave Robert, who is struggling with the other man even now? Merlin is immobilised on the floor, heart in his throat as Robert fights their attacker.

“Rober -”

“Now, Stuart. You must go now. I will hold him back, give you time.”

“But what about you?”

“Please, you must go now. Go. Merlin, _please_!”

So this is how Robert meets his end in this life, Merlin thinks. He reaches out to him, touches his now bloody face despite the risk of being hit by the other man. It is a gentle touch, a caress, a wordless thank you. Because He is saving Merlin once again, when it should be the other way around.

“Do not concern yourself with me. I will find you again.” Such conviction in his words.

Merlin knows it is truth. That does not stop the sting of tears or the tremble in his legs as he turns to run away into the night. And it most certainly does not stop him from getting sick all over himself in the early morning when he smells the burnt flesh of the heretics who have met their end - guilty or not.

**1215 AD**

“Come, boy,” Shepherd Walter calls to Merlin.

The _boy_ is more term of endearment than statement of age, as Merlin is of age, though just barely. He goes by Joseph and is around the same age as Eadric was back in the monastery. It is quite the novel experience being this young again.

Walter owns this relatively small plot of land, tends to the sheep, and because he has no family he has taken on Joseph as his boy - the person he plans on passing down his knowledge and land to when he ages beyond the ability to care for the land and animals.  

It is a welcome change to be so close to his side so often. Life as a shepherd is not easy - though when has Merlin’s life ever been so? - but it is satisfying. Most days Merlin stays behind to tend to the vegetable garden, make the bread, and mend their clothes. They are tasks Merlin is familiar with, finds satisfaction in doing.

Some days, and these are the best, Merlin is asked to come with Walter as he tends to his flock. They walk or ride side by side, mostly in silence, and watch and count every sheep. When one strays Walter is quick to bring it back, though sometimes he asks Merlin to run over and do it to gain experience. They take their midday meal together, sitting in the grass and staring out over the endless fields. It is so quiet, so peaceful. Merlin is not used to him ever being so reserved, but it suits Walter; slim and deeply tanned with hair the same colour as the rich earth they plant with.

But as always, Merlin sees a spark of something more _Arthur_ in those blue eyes. his reticence must come from a life of solitude. Merlin wants to change that. Because Walter is no longer alone. Merlin is here to take care of him. Like he should.

“Do you find yourself lonely, Walter?” Merlin asks when he can bear the silence no more.

Despite the presence of the sun shining brightly in the sky, there is a chill in the air not normal for this time of year. The two of them sit so close together to keep warm and block out the cool breeze that Merlin can hear when Walter breathes deeply before answering. “I used to. Not so much anymore.” He turns and smiles softly at Merlin.

The admission causes Merlin to smile so wide it hurts.

“What of you, Joseph? Do you not wish to find a good woman, raise a family?”

Merlin thinks of his lives. At Camelot there was Freya, though that had ended so quickly it was almost as if nothing had happened. Since then there hasn’t been anyone to pull Merlin’s interest away from finding, and keeping, Him. Merlin supposes that’s rather telling. That he’d rather be with Him than anyone else.

“I am satisfied with my life here.”

Walter nods. “That is good.”

\--

The night comes, much colder than the day, and Walter offers to take watch to let Merlin sleep. But even with the coarse wool blanket around him and the tent blocking out some of the wind, Merlin shivers and cannot find rest. He tosses and turns, curls up into a ball and burrows deep into his clothes and blanket. Nothing helps. His teeth chatter and his fingers are numb. How is it already so cold this early into the season?

“Joseph.” Walter crawls through the opening, letting in a whoosh of bitter cold air that sets all the hairs on Merlin’s body on end.

He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t have to, before Merlin is drawing back his blanket and allowing the older man to share body heat. Merlin cannot remember the last time he has felt this, Him so close. It is frightening...exhilarating...as it should be. Walter’s body is curled around his, arm slung over Merlin’s chest and trying to draw him closer though there is no room left between them.

“I thank you,” Merlin whispers, voice barely loud enough to be heard above the howling outside.

“No need. Would that I could always provide you with comfort, boy.”

Merlin closes his eyes, feels Walter’s fingers curl against his tunic and warm breath upon his neck. He could swear he feels the press of lips upon his skin, but it is possible Merlin imagines it. He is very tired.

“Go to sleep, Merlin.”

He is already mostly there. “Okay, Arthur.”

\--

He wakes up to darkness still and a different kind of howling. The winds have calmed though Merlin still feels a charged atmosphere surrounding him.

“Walter?”

But the man is gone.

In a rush, Merlin is outside, blanket and cold forgotten as he scans the land for Walter. The sheep are scattered. Of course Walter would awake to fulfill his duty to these animals. But the howling Merlin had heard worries him. He runs towards the flock, casting his eyes about for danger when he hears it again in the distance.

He flies towards the sound, not a care for his own safety or the rest of the damned sheep, only Walter. Only Him. And when he finds Walter, Merlin feels all the air leave his lungs. He stands there, lit by moonlight, crook in hand, fighting off three wolves. Walter is facing Merlin, can see the frantic look that screams how can I aid you? Not making a sound, Walter shakes his head. He wants Merlin to go back, Merlin can read it in his eyes. But no, Merlin will not leave him.

“Please,” Merlin cries. It draws the wolves attention away from Walter.

The wolves, sensing a younger, weaker prey, move towards Merlin. He is defenseless, or so it would seem. Merlin is glad to gain their attention. He can lure them away from Walter, where the man cannot see his magic, and take care of the wolves before anyone is hurt.

But Walter shouts, “no!” and rushes the wolves before Merlin can do anything. His crook flings out and catches one on the snout, bringing out a high pitched whimper of pain. The other two, hearing their pack mate, turn back to Walter. If possible, they look even more menacing than before.

“Walter!”

“Go, boy!”

It is Merlin’s turn to shake his head. Doesn’t he know Merlin will never leave Him?

“Dammit, Merlin, why do you never listen to me?” There is pain in Walter’s voice, not physical, not yet - oh gods. Merlin trembles.

Walter’s distraction on Merlin is the advantage the wolves need. The largest of the three leaps, teeth bared and ready to attack.

“No!” Merlin yells the word as he throws his magic out into the night.

But it is too late. By the time his magic hits the wolf, freezing his actions, teeth are already closed around Walter’s neck. There is no stopping the snap of bone, the gush of blood fleeing the body. Walter’s body is crumpling to the ground and Merlin is left watching, once again helpless to save the man he cares most for.

Gone again. He is gone again, taken from Merlin too soon. Merlin can still feel the hard line of Walter’s body against him in the tent; so vividly he’d swear the man were still present. It was so good. And now who knows when, or if, Merlin will ever feel Him like that again?

He throws his head back and screams, his magic explodes out of him like a shockwave, destroying everything in its path.

Merlin is left alone, again, on his knees and weeping at the hopelessness that surrounds him.

**1363 AD**

Merlin is a physician now, using his magic and healing knowledge to help those who are sick and afflicted. It is usually nothing serious; fevers and chills brought on by simple infection. But now he is beginning to see patients exhibiting symptoms found in those who had died years ago from the plague. How has it returned to this area again?

He travels from door to door, providing what he can to ease the suffering of those who have contracted the disease. Sometimes he is able to help fight off the sickness. But often times he hears of an ailing man, woman, or child too late. And his patient dies. The town has resorted to throwing their dead out on the streets again, waiting for wagons to wheel them off to the pit that serves as mass grave. It is disgusting, sickening, the saddest thing Merlin has ever seen. Flies and maggots cover the corpses and the stench is so thick he feels sick upon passing.

There is a family, just on the outskirts of the town, who have a young boy not even five years of age. He is sick and Merlin is asked to help him. Of course Merlin goes. It is his curse to wander the earth forever, not succumbing to disease or death. In this instance, however, it is a blessing. He can be among the people without fear of contracting the disease, work until he is bone tired and still work some more.

When he reaches the small home, Merlin feels something. A sharp pang that hits him between the eyes and travels the length of his body until he is weak on his feet. That pain, it feels like a harbinger of doom. And when Merlin opens the door and sees the child laid out on the small cot beside a fire, he knows why.

It is Him.

Merlin is overcome with such despair, such anger, he feels faint. He is just a boy! Has not lived enough of His life! He does not deserve this suffering.

Tears come to his eyes as he approaches. Even from a distance, Merlin can smell it upon the child; death thick and cloying. This boy, his Arthur, will not last through the night. His parents have waited too long to call upon Merlin.

“Please, physician, is there anything you can do to help our son?” The father sounds so much like Uther it surprises Merlin.

“I will see what I can do.” Which translates to, not really, no.

His mother weeps. She must understand Merlin’s words for their true intent. He cannot stand to see her pain. In this life she survives her son, will walk the rest of her days missing him like Arthur missed Ygraine so many years ago.

As he kneels beside the fitfully sleeping boy, Merlin places a hand upon His forehead. He is burning to the touch. The boy sighs in relief as though Merlin’s hand brings comfort. No doubt it feels cooler to the overheated skin. Or maybe it is something else.

This close to death, Merlin wonders if the boy knows who he truly is. It has been that way for the others, as they neared the end of their lives, they always recognised Merlin’s true identity.

“Arthur,” he says.

“He is called Simon,” the father says. Merlin did not realise how close the man was.

Nodding, Merlin turns his back to him. “Arthur,” he tries again, this time more quietly.

The boy stirs, opens dazed blue eyes and, trembling, smiles at him. “Merlin?”

“I will do everything in my power to heal you.” Whatever it takes, he does not say.

Perhaps this is the meaning of his life upon the earth, at last revealed to him. To save this boy, who will know him from the start thanks to the veil of death being so thin upon their meeting. Simon, Arthur, will live and still recognise Merlin. And Merlin can be his loyal and most trusted friend, even still. Until Simon is of age to lead these people to a more promising future.

_Emrys_.

Merlin ignores his name, lays hands upon Simon’s head and begins to chant.

_Emrys_.

He feels the pain leech into his own body, begins to cough and weaken as he continues saying the words he hopes brings Arthur back to him. Even if it kills him, Merlin will save Him.

_No, Emrys._

And like a candle’s flame is extinguished in one quick exhale, so is Merlin’s magic.

Why? he cries within himself. He is just a boy! How can you let Him die like this?

_It is not yet His time, Emrys. You shall see, one day, that everything that happens here is done so with a great purpose in mind._

What great purpose is there in allowing Him to suffer?

_Is it He that suffers? Or you?_

Merlin opens his eyes as the pain of the sickness leaves his body. It rushes back into the boy so quickly the small chest heaves off the cot from the force of it.

“It is alright, Merlin,” the boy, Simon, wheezes. “Do not cry. We shall find one another again. Of this I am certain.” Simon closes His eyes and breathes no more.

Merlin cries still, head bowed low. “He is gone,” he tells the parents. “I am so sorry I could not do more for him.”

If they only knew the sincerity of his words...

**Sometime during the 1400s**

Merlin does not know where he is, only that he cannot bear this burden anymore. He keeps to himself, traveling too quickly to be seen by many. And when he comes across others, Merlin flees in the other direction. He cannot bear to find Him again, not after the last time. The loss is too fresh, too much for Merlin. He will never forget those beings that hold themselves as gods for denying him the chance to save Arthur.

Just a boy. He was only a boy.

The words are like a mantra to Merlin. They keep him from any desire to find Arthur again. Because if the fates could take a child from him, what else are they prepared to do? What has Merlin done to deserve such a cruel hand in life? Was he not destined for great things at the side of his King? Why is he meant to suffer so strongly? When does it end?

For the first time in his life, Merlin feels like giving up completely. He eats what he can find, sleeps wherever is hidden and safest, the absolute minimum in order to survive. Because what he does now can hardly be called living. He is a shell of himself.

He is so alone.

But being alone has to better than the agony of losing Arthur over and over again.

At night he hears a voice, the same one that told him not to save the boy. He ignores it best he can. Merlin does not want to hear the soft whisper of _Emrys_ over and over. He does not want to hear explanations or reprimands, no instructions for what he must do now. Whoever, whatever, is trying to gain Merlin’s attention can wait. Merlin has been waiting for so long he decides it’s someone else's turn now.

But one warm day, close to the turn of the century, the gentle voice in Merlin’s ear turns into a scolding cry.

_Emrys. Emrys! You have ignored us for too long. You have ignored your fate for too long. It is time you resume your mission._

And what mission is that, he wonders?

_To restore the power and glory to Albion. To take your rightful place beside your King. You know this. You have known this all along._

But I keep finding Him and you keep taking Him away!

_Because He is not ready yet to take up the mantle of Once and Future King, Emrys. And without you by His side, Arthur is lost. He will continue to cycle through different lives, never resting, never taking up the throne again, without your help._

Merlin feels horror deep in his gut. He cannot do that to Arthur.

_No, you cannot._

He must gather up strength and find Arthur once more, regardless of how his heart breaks every time he has to watch Arthur leave him again.

**1518 AD**

“Like this?”

The man that stands before him is nude, skin golden and gleaming from the oil rubbed into it. His arms are at his side, muscles flexed, and he stands with feet shoulder width apart. He is beautiful, a vision; standing upon a pedestal with light filtering through his white blond hair. Almost like a halo to Merlin’s eyes. The need within Merlin swells to the point of combustion. Never before has his desire for this man been so strong his fingers itch to touch. Instead he focuses his hands to chisel and chip away the marble to be molded in this man’s likeness. Nicholas. A vision. Merlin’s muse.

“Yes. Perfect.”

Nicholas is a complete hedonist. It’s visible in the way he reclines upon the settee during breaks, so casual in his nudity, slowly savoring every ripe piece of fruit and cup of wine until the juices all but drip down his chin. Or in the way he poses himself for Merlin, as if he knows how Merlin watches him, revels in it, welcomes it even. He is the living embodiment of eat, drink, and be merry. Merlin curses his very existence with every chisel of his tool against stone.

But Merlin needs Nicholas. He has been asked to create a sculpture for a local noble family. Merlin could have refused, he does not need the gold promised him in payment, but he chose to accept because, for all he curses Nicholas, Merlin cannot stay away from this man. Merlin wants him. If the only way to have him is by carving his likeness, Merlin can suffer the desires of flesh for a little longer.

“Your eyes gaze upon me as if filled with a great hunger, Master.

Merlin hates it when Nicholas calls him that, has asked to be addressed by his Christian name: Philip.

“I do not understand your words, Nicholas,” Merlin tries. He attempts to busy himself with the task at hand. He proves unsuccessful as Nicholas twists at the waist, exposing the long line of his back.

“I think that you do. And I wish you to know I welcome your eyes upon me.”

Merlin is so surprised he very nearly drops his tools. As it is, his hands quake at Nicholas’s words. “Pardon?”

“You heard what I said. Do not pretend otherwise.” Nicholas bends over just enough so that his tight buttocks are flexed and directly in Merlin’s line of sight. The firm muscles of his arse tempt Merlin. More than he’s ever been tempted before.

This is so much worse than when he was in Camelot, when Arthur pranced around naked for baths and dressing, not a care in the world as to how Merlin felt about him. Because then, there was no hope for anything more. Even if sometimes Merlin felt like his feelings were reciprocated, Arthur would never have acted upon base feelings for another man. He had his duties to uphold. But now, as Nicholas, He is available, attainable, and apparently so very accepting.

“Nicholas...”

“Yes?” He turns around to face Merlin properly, bright blue eyes staring intently at Merlin.

The sight of him takes Merlin’s breath away. Nicholas stands before him, His need clearly showing in the rigid line of his prick. It is all too much to bear. How is Merlin expected to resist when he stands before Merlin like this? But Merlin knows he must. His duty is to help Arthur, in whatever incarnation he takes, find his rightful place as King of Albion. It isn’t to do...whatever it is Nicholas (Merlin) wants.

“I cannot sculpt you in such a state.”

NIcholas smiles and Merlin feels his stomach clench painfully. “You mean with my cock hard for you?” Merlin nods. “Shall I take care of it then?”

“Take care?”

“Oh yes, Master Philip.”

And before Merlin can open his mouth to speak again, Nicholas’s hand clasps around the thick flesh between his legs. A moan rends the silence between them, though Merlin does not know whose mouth utters the sound. It matters little, as Merlin is sure he feels almost as much pleasure as the man before him.

Merlin is transfixed, staring at Nicholas taking his own pleasure in quick, bold strokes. His head is thrown back, neck straining from the tension building in his body. What would it be like to run fingers down the broad, smooth chest? What would Nicholas do if Merlin were to bridge the distance between them and assist in his completion?

There is no time to think of actually acting upon desires, though. Nicholas’s rhythm falters, curls his body forward and stares at Merlin as he spills his seed over hand and pedestal.  The choked off sound He makes rings through Merlin’s ears, an echo of pleasure that nearly sets off Merlin’s own climax.

“Mm, that was nice.” Nicholas steps down and wipes himself off with the underside of his tunic. He dresses quickly, as though he has somewhere to be. Who knows, maybe he does. “Perhaps next time you will join me, Merlin.”

“I do not believe that would be wise, Arthur. We should not...wait. What did you call me?”

A confused look is the response Nicholas gives Merlin before responding with, “I called you Philip. I thought that was what you wished me to call you.”

Is Merlin hearing things? Going crazy? He cannot have heard correctly. Nicholas is safe inside Merlin’s studio, no threat or danger to his life. There is no way Nicholas called him Merlin.

“Of course that is what I wish.”

Nicholas’s smile is blinding. But he turns around as if to leave.

“Where are you going?”

“I must meet with my sister.”

Merlin sees Morgana in his mind’s eye. He fears, then realises Morgana is not set upon the same path as Arthur and him. Though it causes some comfort, still Merlin cannot shake what he thought he heard. “Cannot you stay a little longer?”

“Would that I could, Philip. But if I tarry longer, she will never let me hear the end of it.”

“Will you return to me, then? After you are finished?”

“You would ask me to come back? To what, spend the night with you?”

“Yes,” he answers. Anything to get Nicholas back inside and keep him safe. Merlin does not realise the hidden meaning behind the question, nor his answer, until Nicholas positively leers at him.

“I would love nothing more.” With that, Nicholas walks out of Merlin’s studio.

\--

It is dark, well past the time Nicholas should have returned. But Merlin stays awake, keeps his candles lit for the man. He prays for Nicholas’s safety, feels a growing unease settle into his bones and realises he had not misheard Nicholas. No, Nicholas had known Merlin for his true self. Which meant he was close to death. His absence can only mean one thing.

Without warning, every single candle’s flame is extinguished. And Merlin knows Arthur is once again departed from this world.

\--

He never finds out how Nicholas met his end. He hopes it was not violent. He hates that he was not there to see Arthur through to the other side, or wherever his spirit rests between cycles of life.

Though what he despises even more is that, for all they shared a great intimacy in this lifetime, Merlin still does not know the pleasure of His touch. They never even shared a kiss before Nicholas left him. It seems unfair.

Merlin knows, with a sudden clarity that scares him, that next time he will seek out more from Arthur. He is past the point of caring if it is wrong. He wants this man, will have him. Because if he’s not guaranteed more than just a passing moment or two with Arthur, what’s the point of missing out on golden opportunities?

****  
  


**1662**

Gabriel is a slight, slim figured young man. With creamy, pale skin, small upturned nose, and brown curls that hang in those piercing blue eyes, He is beautiful in a way Merlin never thought he’d see before. It’s no wonder He so often plays the role of women in the plays he is part of.

The journey out of the city proper is long and dull, but worth it to watch Gabriel perform. The others around Merlin may use this time to get up to all sorts of devious activity, but Merlin only has eyes for the beautiful creature on stage. He hears talk of women being allowed to perform, of replacing men as female characters. Merlin does not understand how anyone could want someone other than Gabriel.

He moves about with a grace that is dizzying to watch; with flowers in his hair and waist cinched tight in a corset. His lips and cheeks are painted with rouge as red as blood. And though he speaks in falsetto, Gabriel speaks loud enough to command attention. When he raises his voice, Merlin notices a few eyes turning to look upon Gabriel. Merlin finds he does not like the way those men gaze upon him.

Once upon a time Merlin had felt a faint stirring of jealousy at the way Arthur looked at Gwen, and she in return. But that was a mere fraction, not even worth mentioning in the wake of the fierce possessiveness Merlin feels now. He wants to go to the stage and claim him. But Gabriel does not even know Merlin exists.

Not yet anyway.

\--

“Excuse me, Gabriel?”

“Yes?” The voice is higher, carries a certain melody to it, and yet is still completely His.

“I wanted to tell you I really enjoyed your performance.”

They are behind the stage, standing beside the small structure which the actors use to change. Merlin notices they are alone, is grateful for it. But looking at Gabriel’s face, Merlin can tell he is not.

Gabriel nods at him, then continues walking past, as if he doesn’t have the time of day for the likes of Merlin. Which, maybe is true. But Merlin is having none of that.

“And I was wondering if you’d like to get a drink with me at the tavern.”

“You know I’m not actually a woman, right? I’m a man. Got a cock and everything to prove it.”

Merlin frowns at Him. “Of course. I know that.”

Gabriel looks at Merlin closely, as if trying to find something. He must do, because he all but scowls at Merlin before replying. “And you realise that they still hang people for buggery in certain parts of the country, yes? So if I were you, I’d be more careful.”

“What? No! That’s not why I came here at all!” Mostly. At least, Merlin may have hoped but never dreamed it possible. “Why would you think that?”

As he looks in Gabriel’s eyes, he sees a sadness there. Merlin knows, and it’s a frightening understanding, that this is not the first time someone has approached Gabriel after a play. Who knows what happened then? Merlin can only pray it was nothing horrible. And do his best to continue to be present for his performances to keep any unwanted advances away.

“I find I’m not very thirsty at the moment,” Gabriel says at last, a shrug carrying him away from Merlin and into the closed space that will transform Him from woman back to man.

Merlin does not want to press his luck. He walks away from Gabriel.

\--

“Hi.”

“You again.”

Merlin smiles at Gabriel’s small frown. “Yes. Me again. Feeling thirsty today?”

Gabriel looks around. They are not alone this time. “Mind if I invite some of my friends along?”

“Of course not.” Merlin wants to be as friendly and unintimidating as possible. He wants Gabriel to trust him, like him, feel safe being alone with him eventually.  

“Alright then.”

“My name is James, by the way.”

“You don’t look like a James.”

Merlin can only laugh.

\--

It becomes a ritual of sorts, Merlin watching Gabriel’s play and then taking him, along with the other actors, to the tavern for drinks. The concept of friends is a foreign thing to Merlin, something he hasn’t enjoyed since Camelot. Being around so many people, laughing and enjoying himself, makes him ache for those who are no longer of this world. But it also makes getting closer to Gabriel easier.

As it is, most times Gabriel and Merlin sit by themselves as the others drink and flirt with the women inside the tavern. They have an easy camaraderie, talking long after most of the other actors fall asleep where they sit or leave to take comfort in a warm, willing body. But Merlin finds he wishes to be somewhere more private, not so loud, so he can really get to know Gabriel.

“Would you care to take a walk?” He is so hopeful he cannot help the longing in his voice.

Gabriel must hear it, He smiles as he rolls his eyes, but when he says, “I keep telling you, I’m no girl, James,” there is no malice in the words.

“Trust me, I know.”

There is a moment of silence, some sort of truth being passed between the two of them. Gabriel accepts it, whatever he learns from Merlin’s words, and nods. “Let’s get out of here. It stinks of piss.”

The sun is just starting to set as they walk shoulder to shoulder, trying to navigate through the crowded streets. When they reach a less crowded part of town, Gabriel steps away, giving them enough room to move without brushing and leaving Merlin disappointed.

“How did you get into acting,” he asks, breaking the silence.

Gabriel shrugs, looks away. The fact he does not answer speaks louder than any words Gabriel might have shared. Whatever happened in his past, it wasn’t good. Merlin wants it to stay there, away from the here and now, where Merlin hopes to bring some good to Gabriel’s life.

“Would you like to go back?”

Instead of answering, Gabriel asks his own question. “Why do you really come to the plays?”

“I told you. I enjoy watching you perform.”

“Because...?”

“Because you are an amazing actor.”

Gabriel stops walking, head bowed low. “Not good enough. They are looking to replace me. With a woman.” There is no anger there, only resignation.

“If they do, it will be a mistake. I have never seen anyone like you before, Gabriel. You make the characters come alive.”

The smile Gabriel bestows upon Merlin lights up the darkening sky. He wants to memorise that smile, to take with him wherever he may end up.

Gabriel steps closer to him. “Thank you, James.”

“Why are you thanking me?”

“For being a good man, something of a rarity these days.”

He looks around before stepping closer to Merlin. And before Merlin can open his mouth to respond, Gabriel presses a soft kiss to his lips. It is so quick, Merlin could almost swear he imagined it. But his lips tingle. And when he licks his lips, he can taste the ale Gabriel had been drinking.

“You do realise I’m not a woman, right Gabriel?”

The way Gabriel throws back his head and laughs makes Merlin’s entire body heat up. “Shut up, _Mer_ lin.”

Merlin’s blood runs cold. It’s not just hearing his name. It’s the way Gabriel says it. All of it. So much like Arthur. The inflection and the teasing behind the words that at one time were rude but at the end were so fond it now brings tears to Merlin’s eyes.

Something is going to happen. And Merlin has no idea what. He cannot even begin to prepare to stop whatever will take Gabriel from this life without knowing the source of his end. Perhaps they can stay here, in the growing dark; sheltered from prying eyes and the people coming and going down narrow streets. They are well hidden, safe, and as long as Merlin stays with him, he can protect whatever comes their way.

He means to say something, anything, to convince Gabriel of this plan. But there is no need. Gabriel lifts up onto his toes and is kissing Merlin again. All thought leaves as their lips brush together, Gabriel’s tongue licking softly, as if testing, at Merlin’s mouth. Merlin’s breath leaves his body in a rough punch of air, opening wide to let Gabriel deepen the kiss.  

Merlin is taller than Gabriel, towers over the slight man. Yet he is by no means the aggressor. It was Gabriel who took the first step. It is Gabriel now who pushes things further, getting his hands tangled in Merlin’s hair and bringing their bodies so close together not even a whisper of air stands between them. And it is good, so good. Better than any other experience Merlin has had. So good he loses himself, forgets his fears and knows only Gabriel, Arthur, this.

There are voices, and they are growing louder, unignorable, as Gabriel and Merlin continue kissing. The voices are so close, Merlin has no choice but to pull away when Gabriel continues their fevered kissing. The look on Gabriel’s face is comical, one of shock and disappointment. He clearly has not heard those approaching. Merlin is smug. Kissing him did that to Gabriel.

“Shh,” Merlin whispers in Gabriel’s ear.

As they stand still, Gabriel hears the men approach, knows they need to leave. There is no question what the two of them were up to. Gabriel’s mouth is so kiss swollen, Merlin has to use all his strength to keep from bending down and kissing him again. And Gabriel’s clothes are rumpled from where Merlin’s fists had bunched the material in his desperate need to feel him close.

“We need to leave.” Gabriel is tugging at Merlin’s hands, leading him away.

They walk swiftly down alleys and dirty, stinking streets towards a less than favorable part of town. Is it enough that they escaped detection from a group of men who could no doubt have brought harm to the both of them? Merlin prays it is. This thing he has with Gabriel, it is so new and wondrous and honestly, all Merlin’s ever wanted. Perhaps, now he’s found it, he can keep it.

“Where are we going?”

“Home.”

Said so certainly, like Merlin’s welcome to call it such as well. Merlin’s eyes slip closed, just briefly, to savor the idea of making a home with Gabriel. This can be their life, their second chance. Is it really possible the fates have decided to leave them be?

There is a brightness in the sky, a smoky scent permeating the air and getting thicker with every step they take. Rounding a corner, Merlin sees a building on fire. The smoke clings to the air to the point Merlin can barely breathe, let alone speak. He is startled when Gabriel cries out and rushes away from the relative safety their distance affords them.

“Gabriel!”

He doesn’t respond, just runs as fast as possible, a wildness in his eyes that Merlin sees as he instinctually follows. Merlin will always follow Him, no matter if it is to their deaths. Merlin cannot leave Him to face this alone.

Gabriel is calling out a name Merlin does not recognise, frantic and near tears. Or maybe it is the smoke choking him.

“Elizabeth!” He’s screaming, over and over, even as he reaches the door to his modest thatch home. And when he makes as if to enter, Merlin knows what will happen. He has to stop this.

“You cannot go in there, Gabriel. The flames are too intense. You will be burned. Badly, if not to death.”

“I cannot stand idly by. My sister is inside!”

Though he hates himself for thinking it, Merlin knows that if Gabriel’s sister truly was inside at the time the fire started, she is already gone. He cannot say it to Gabriel though. Just...cannot.

“Then let me help you find her.”

Gabriel turns to look at him, the first time their eyes have met since the fire was spotted. “Thank you, Merlin.”

He hates to hear his name upon those lips. Truly hates it.

“Of course, Arthur. You know I’d do anything for you.”

Gabriel nods, knows it as a matter of fact. He is so close to death now, Merlin can see it in the way Gabriel’s eyes flash with knowledge he should not have.

“Let’s go get my sister.”

\--

They do not find her. Or rather, Merlin does not find her. Once inside, the intensity of the fire causes them to seek different paths to the small bedroom at the top of the stairs. The walls around them are burning down, humble furniture falling over, creating barricades they cannot hope to surmount. And though Merlin uses his magic to extinguish as much as possible, heedless of the voice telling him to cease at once, Merlin, it is time to let him go it is not enough. It never is.

You torment me, he thinks, with every life upon this cursed earth. Why do you take Him from me?

_It is as it must be, Emrys. You know this._

The bitterness that floods through him is not enough to deny that yes, he does know.

_Soon, Emrys. You and Arthur need only endure for a little longer._

And then what?

_And then He will be yours once again._

****  
  


**1725**

The warehouse is empty of workers but full of men, tobacco curling up in the air and making the space seem smaller than it is. Everyone is crowded together, pushing closer and forming a ring around the two in the center currently fighting. Cheers and curses are being shouted in gruff voices as bets are taken and money exchanges hands. This is Merlin’s life now, the life of a bare-knuckle boxer. It’s dangerous, certainly not glamorous, but exactly where he wants to be.

He was never very skilled in the arts of combat, magic being his fallback in times of crisis. But now, with not just his muscles but heart hardened from his never ending struggle through different lifetimes, Merlin revels in the brutal touch of flesh upon flesh as he fights. He may not be the biggest fighter, but he is quick, knows the pressure points in a man’s body to make him fold faster than anything else...besides magic, of course. And then there is the motivation that keeps Merlin moving even after suffering a terrible blow.

Pain. Merlin has been living with so much emotional torture it is good to feel the physical side answering back. It blocks out everything else, Merlin’s entire focus on working through broken ribs and fingers, cuts that ooze blood for days. He feels alive in a very different way to the people he was in the past. This is new and exciting, thrilling to Merlin.

And best of all, this time around, it’s Arthur who seeks him out instead of the other way around. He isn’t Arthur in this life, naturally, he’s called Jack. He’s not handsome in the traditional sense; nose crooked, ears too big, dirty unkempt hair, and a large, almost cumbersome body. But his eyes shine bright blue like they should and when he smiles at Merlin in greeting, his entire rough countenance transforms (even with the missing teeth most likely knocked out during a fight.)

“Would you be Peter?”

Merlin nods, “I am.”

“Excellent! The name’s Jack and I’ve come looking for a fight.”

“I hope you don’t mean against me.” Merlin is joking. He could easily take down Jack, despite the weight difference. And Jack being a full head taller than Merlin.

Jack looks horrified though, shakes his head rapidly. Merlin’s reputation must precede him; Jack doesn’t want to get into it and lose.

“Of course not! Wouldn’t be fair.” Merlin smiles. “There’s no way you’d last more than five minutes.”

That isn’t what he’d been expecting to hear. “Come with me.”

Merlin leads Jack outside the warehouse, to the empty and dark street where they cannot be seen or overheard. He notices the slightly uneven gait as Jack walks beside him, wonders if it is an old injury or a physical trait he was born with. Doesn’t matter, really, because it’s just another advantage Merlin can use.

“You think I couldn’t hold my own against you,” Merlin asks when they are several meters away from the building.

“I know you’re a great fighter, Peter, it’s why I’ve come to meet you. But you’re so much smaller. I’d never forgive myself if I accidentally hurt you.”

It’s a much sweeter sentiment than Merlin is used to in regards to fighting with Him. He remembers the first time they fought, so so long ago now, and how He had shown Merlin no mercy, made Merlin work for every block and save. But Merlin had prevailed, hadn’t he? Then it had been with the aid of magic. The look of shock on His face had made the risk of being caught worth it. This time, Merlin doesn’t need magic. He’ll still enjoy the look on His face when Merlin wins, though.

“I doubt you could lay a hand on me.” He advances upon Jack, strikes out, softening his hand so the blow only stings a bit.

“I will not engage you, Peter. I only wish for you to teach me, help me gain speed and agility in the ring.”

Merlin moves quickly around Jack’s still body. “Not engage me, you say?” He lands another blow, this time harder, into the meat of Jack’s stomach. The punch is strong enough to push out a soft grunt from Jack’s mouth. This pleases Merlin.

He’s not sure if taking his anger out over Arthur on Jack is wise, because that’s clearly what he’s doing. Merlin is not fool enough to deny that. But there is something cathartic about being able to hit the man, make Him feel Merlin’s pain in some small degree. Arthur keeps coming back to Merlin, without past knowledge of what has occurred. Each new life is a clean slate. Merlin wishes he could be so lucky. His memory is as good as it ever was. Though he wishes it wasn’t.

“Stop, Pe-” Merlin’s fist connects with His mouth, cutting off the words. Blood flows from His split lip and Merlin feels a new anger grow within him.

What is he doing? Why is he enjoying bringing pain to Him? Merlin hates himself, hates Him, hates everything but the pain and joy of fighting. He wants Jack to hit him back. Needs it like air in his lungs.

“Well look at that, this little man made you bleed. Does that make you angry, Jack?”

It does. Merlin sees it in heyes, blue going ice cold in checked anger towards him. He doesn’t want Jack to check his anger though, wants it unleashed a bit to fight back.

“Do you want me to apologise?” He advances upon Jack again. “Tell you how sorry I am? Maybe,” he leans forward until their faces are so close together Merlin can smell the dirt on Jack’s skin. “Kiss it better for you?”

Darting in quickly, Merlin presses his lips to Jack’s surprised ones. It is a hard push of mouth against mouth, Merlin tasting blood as he licks Jack just once, before Merlin pulls back and moves far from Jack’s reaching arms.

“What the fuck?” Jack looks murderous. He’s still for all of three seconds before taking off at a run after Merlin.

He’s slower than Merlin, feet dragging a bit as he tries to catch up. Merlin can’t help but laugh as he ducks and weaves away from Jack’s outstretched arms. The laughter only serves to enrage Jack further, making him desperate to land a punch to what Merlin knows is a smug smile.

“You’ll have to be faster than that if you want to catch me!”

Growing bolder, Merlin slows down, pivots on his feet and runs back towards Jack. He aims low, going for the soft spot on Jack’s side. His fist connects and Jack makes a satisfying groan of pain. Only, Merlin wasn’t expecting Jack to throw himself on top of Merlin. And he finds himself trapped under more weight than he can hope to throw off.

“What was that you were saying?” The words come out stilted, Jack trying to catch his breath.

Merlin immediately starts trying to scramble away, legs kicking out wildly as he loses all strategy for escape. Now he is the one being toyed with. Jack uses one hand to hold both of Merlin’s above his head and the other to land blow after blow to the rest of Merlin’s body. They sting, but not too much. Like Jack said, he doesn’t want to hurt Merlin.

Somehow that knowledge is more painful to Merlin than any punch.

“Get off!”

“Or what?”

“Or I...” Merlin gets a leg free, kicks up with all his might and catches Jack in the groin.

“Shit!” Jack crumbles, pressing down on Merlin.

They’re both panting hard, bodies sore and bruised and much too close. But Merlin cannot push Jack off no matter how hard he’s trying to do so. And Jack makes no attempt to move his body. Instead he brings his head up, stares Merlin down, and kisses him.

The fight drains out of Merlin slowly as his mind registers what is happening. Jack’s mouth is gentle on his, nothing like the kiss Merlin instigated earlier. It’s slow, wet, just a little sloppy as if Jack has never done this before and Merlin’s body lights up at the thought that he probably never has done this...at least with another man.

When Jack pulls back, they are both breathing hard again, only for very different reasons. There is a guarded look to his blue eyes. Almost as if he’s not sure he can trust Merlin with what they just shared.

He can think of no words to say that will dispel concern, only action. Bringing his hands up to Jack’s face, Merlin pulls him back down so they can kiss again.

\--

They spend most of their days like their first meeting, fighting and kissing as they roll around on the hard ground. For every injury Merlin inflicts, his mouth is there to ease the pain. Jack does the same, oftentimes licking long stripes down the fresh bruises that run down Merlin’s face. Pain and pleasure, Merlin has never been more turned on before.

“You’re getting faster.” Merlin smiles as they finally disengage their bodies and stand apart. “Only took you a few minutes to catch me this time.

Jack wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning. “You’ve taught me well.”

It is usually at this point that Jack departs for his own place so he can prepare for the night’s fight. Only, this time he lingers, eyes moving up and down Merlin’s body in a way that sends shivers down Merlin’s spine. He recognises that look. It is the same one Nicholas turned on him as he stood before Merlin naked, sex aching and hard. But Merlin does not know what to do with that look.

“Perhaps you could teach me other things as well.”

For all their time spent kissing, Merlin and Jack have never ventured further than that. Not for lack of desire, but the two seemed to share an understanding. Fighting and kissing, that is their relationship summed up in two words. Now, Merlin understands nothing. All he sees is Jack’s eyes gazing upon him with such heat and desire Merlin is frozen still.

“I don’t know...I’ve never -”

“Then we will just have to learn together, won’t we?”

Jack is in front of him so fast, kissing Merlin breathless, he is powerless to do anything other than stand there and take what is given to him. Not that he minds. But when Jack’s hands begin to wander over his body, Merlin knows he needs to stop before they cause a scene. In public.

“Not here, Jack.”

“My place, then.”

But all Merlin sees is a building going down in flames, a young man running to his death all for the love of a sister, and Merlin left standing alone in the ruins.

“No. Mine.”

Jack shrugs and motions for Merlin to lead the way. They walk quickly, Jack all but shoving him along to quicken their steps. It’s adorable, how excited Jack is. Merlin feels Jack push up against his backside, feels the hardness against his arse and thinks maybe adorable isn’t the right word for this.

They’re inside Merlin’s home at long last, both men pushing against each other as they kiss and bite at lips and skin. He tries maneuvering them to his small bed, but the force with which Jack is shoving at Merlin causes them both to tumble to the rough wooden floor.

Jack is so eager, rutting against Merlin, helplessly turned on. He thinks it would be better to move somewhere softer. But the enthusiasm with which Jack is kissing him makes Merlin swallow the words down. Jack’s hands are everywhere; Merlin’s hair, face, scratching nails down his arms, lifting and pulling his legs apart and around Jack’s waist. Merlin can do nothing more than moan and move against Jack until their hips align perfectly and their cocks rub together through their trousers.

“Oh, oh _Christ_. Peter, you feel good under me.” He grinds down hard against Merlin as if to emphasise the point.

The floor is uncomfortable beneath him, but Merlin has no desire to move as Jack kisses him again, messy smear of lips as he thrusts down faster. Merlin feels something, something like magic, coursing through him as he lifts his hips to meet Jack.

These sensations are all so new to Merlin. Even when he takes himself in hand, Merlin never feels the desire well up so completely within himself. Being with Jack intensifies all his physical wants. Until he knows nothing but his body and Jack’s, connected at the mouths and touching in as many places as possible.

It almost hurts when Merlin spills inside his trousers, Jack not slowing down until he too reaches completion. But just as when they’re fighting, this mix of pain and pleasure is so intense Merlin almost loses control of himself. The books on the shelf along the wall rattle ominously until Merlin can take deep breaths to control it again. Jack, still on top of him and completely spent, is too tired to notice anything out of the ordinary.

“Mm, good lesson.” Jack is mouthing at Merlin’s neck, showing no signs of wanting to leave. This is new, something Merlin does not know how to deal with. He’s not sure if this thing between Jack and him is purely physical or something more. And he’s too frightened to ask and find out in case it’s the former. Merlin’s not sure he could handle that.

But the way Jack holds him now, licks at Merlin’s sweat and pushes his hair out of his face, is so intimate, Merlin feels his heart stutter in hope.

“I wish I could stay longer, try to learn something new tonight,” Jack looks up and smiles at Merlin, “but I’ve a fight tonight.”

“That’s alright. Maybe tomorrow?”

Jack nods. “Or, if you’d like, you can come to my fight tonight. Maybe afterwards we can do something to celebrate my win.”

Cocky bastard. Merlin can’t help the grin taking over his face as he agrees.

\--

The man Jack is to face off against is Goliath made flesh before his very eyes. Jack is a large man, a full head taller than Merlin. But this man, this giant, towers over everyone present. He is so huge there can be nope hope to knock him down. How is he even allowed to fight against Jack? The matchup is completely unfair.

But Jack, sweet, smiling, full of himself Jack, looks unconcerned. “I’m fast now, Peter. Don’t worry about me.”

Jack bobs and weaves, dodges the giant’s meaty fists and manages to land a few blows. The hits do nothing to his opponent. And as Merlin watches, he can’t help but compare the fight to a man batting at an annoying fly who won’t stop buzzing around him.  

Speed Jack has, but endless endurance he does not. And Merlin is horrified to see Jack begin to tire. His face is ruddy, bare chest slick with sweat, and his feet drag on as he moves. This fight needs to stop, now, before Jack collapses from fatigue. Or worse. Merlin tries to break it up but the crowd is hungry, calling out for blood and carnage and Merlin is disgusted.

Worse comes when Jack tries to dodge one of the giant’s swinging arms but doesn’t quite get out of reach. The result is a ham fist to the side of Jack’s head and Jack crumpling to the ground. He doesn’t get up and the other man raises his arms in victory. Merlin pushes through the crowd, uses his magic to force people away and is at Jack’s side before the doctor can reach him.

“Jack. _Jack_! Are you alright?” He doesn’t shake him, but it is a near thing.

There is no response from Jack, though Merlin feels a pulse, sees the slow rise and fall of a chest filling with air.

“We need to get him outside,” he yells out, and three other men reach under the prone figure to carry him out.

Once free from the stifling heat of the warehouse, Merlin sends the others away. They are all quick in disappearing, not wanting to be implicated in anything should Jack not recover.

When he is alone with Jack, Merlin summons his magic, pulls it deep from the earth and begins to press shaking fingers to Jack’s chest. As he begins to speak, the man beneath him draws in a ragged breath.

“Merlin?”

Oh no.

“What happened?” Jack tries to sit up but Merlin’s hand stays him.

“You were hit.”

“I was?”

“Yes. Do you not remember the fight?”

Jack shakes his head. “I remember this afternoon.” And Jack has the nerve to smile at Merlin.

He would laugh, only Jack had called him by his Name and that only ever leads to death.

“Let’s get you home.”

“Okay.” Merlin helps him stand. “How did I get out here?”

“Some of us carried you out after you fell.”

“Fell?”

Merlin feels his chest seize up. “Yes. From the fight. Remember?”

Jack looks so utterly confused it pains Merlin to see.

“Right. The fight.”

“Come on, home now.”

Merlin does not like the way Jack is so unsteady on his feet, asks if he can stay the night. It’s to watch over the man but Jack only leers, “must’ve won if you’re coming with me.”

The way home is long and cold, fear surrounding Merlin the entire way.

\--

The night before Merlin had settled in bed next to Jack. There had been some kissing, some fumbling hands (Jack’s) but it wasn’t difficult to keep Jack from overexerting himself. He’d fallen asleep so easily, body and mind tired and injured and in need of repairs.

So when Jack wakes with a groan, Merlin can only feel relief that he has somehow made it.

“Morning.”

“Peter?” Merlin does not like the sound of confusion colouring his name. “What are you doing here? Did we...”

“No. Do you not remember last night?”

Jack shakes his head. “All I know is my head is pounding as though someone’s taken a wooden beam to it.”

Close enough, Merlin thinks.

“You were in a fight last night. The man you were up against hit you. Hard.”

“Hmm,” is Jack’s only response.

They sit together, quiet for some time, until Merlin can no longer stand it, needs to break the silence. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything? Water? Food?”

“How ‘bout a kiss, Mer - Peter?” Jack’s smile is forced in the way that shows he’s too tired for it but wants to make Merlin happy. He’s seen it before on Arthur. He hated it then and he hates it now.

Merlin kisses him anyway.

“I’m very tired. I think I require more rest.”

He lets Jack sleep so long the sun is high in the sky by the time Jack opens his eyes again. Merlin brings him food; bread and water all he can manage. He doesn’t want to be away from Jack for too long. Just in case. But it doesn’t really matter as Jack barely eats a thing in front of him before his eyes droop.

“M’still tired.” And Merlin lets him sleep.

Jack stirs from time to time, talking to Merlin, but never expressing a desire to get up and do anything. He just lies there. It’s such a contrast to the energy Jack carries about him normally. Jack is not the type of person to laze about, He’s constantly moving. This stillness worries Merlin.

By nightfall, Jack is back asleep and Merlin is by his side on the bed; not once leaving the room in case Jack needs him. He is not aware of time passing, only the subtle shifts of movement coming from Jack. Merlin cannot sleep because he is too afraid for Jack. He is not himself; too listless, too forgetful. This man is too dull where once he was so bright.

“Peter?” The name is so quiet Merlin almost misses it. “Peter,” he calls more insistently.

“What, Jack?”

“No. _Merlin_.”

Merlin swallows. “Arthur?”

“I’m so tired.”

The bed shakes slightly from a trembling body. But is it Merlin’s or his? Does it matter?

“You’ve been sleeping all day”

“Not what I mean, Merlin.”

He reaches out with numb fingers and strokes the scarred, rough skin of His face. Merlin feels a wetness there from tears and lets his own fall in return.

“Go to sleep, then, Arthur. I’ll be here when you wake.”

“Good.”

He sleeps. And in the morning He does not wake.

Merlin calls a doctor, though he already knows what’s happened. Jack’s brain suffered severe trauma; hemorrhaged and slipped into a coma. At any moment, with or without the doctor relieving pressure on his swollen brain, Jack will die.

The doctor leaves at Merlin’s insistence. But Merlin doesn’t leave. Instead he goes about making sure Jack is comfortable in his bed - even though he can’t feel a thing - and sits by his side. He talks to Jack; brings up Camelot and all the other lives they both have lived since. It helps ease the pain, speaking these things to him, even if it’s not really being heard. Merlin hopes that somewhere, deep down, Arthur is understanding everything. So that when they next meet, He will recognise Merlin sooner and they can have more time before being separated again.

Eventually, Merlin sees the slow rise and fall of Jack’s chest begin to falter. He holds a hand up to Jack’s nose but no longer feels warmth there. Jack is gone now.

Merlin stands, places a soft kiss to His brow and whispers, “sleep well, Arthur,” and leaves.

 

**1800s**

“Lady Vivian says you have some knowledge of horses.”

Merlin does his best not to smirk, is unsuccessful, when he answers. “You could say that.”

“Come then. I won’t bother going through instructions if you know what you’re doing. Go tend to Daisy first. She’s the young Sarah’s favorite mare.”

“Of course.” Merlin nods, gives a little bow and heads towards the stables. He smiles to himself as Charles, the coachman, follows behind.

“Oh, and Henry? I’ll be double checking all your work so mind you don’t make any mistakes.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” He turns around and with a laugh whispers, “Arthur,” as he continues towards the horses.

\--

Merlin hated mucking out stalls while he was in Camelot and he hates it still now. Though he has gotten used to the stench as the sun reaches its zenith and leaves the stable sweltering. He’s even used to the way sweat drips down his back so his shirt sticks like a second skin. And the way his eyes sting from the salt of perspiration falling from his hair.

What he’s not used to is a pair of blue eyes lingering on him the entire time. No, that’s new. Merlin’s not sure if it’s scrutiny or something else, but Charles cannot seem to stop staring at him. Charles is a striking man; intense blue eyes fringed with inky lashes and light brown hair peppered with gray at the temples and in his beard. He wears his uniform with dignity, Merlin has noticed since he arrived ten days ago, and even now in shirt sleeves rolled up to expose lean, muscular forearms it’s hard to look away. But he doubts he holds the same appeal for Charles.

As Henry, Merlin is as gangly as he ever was as a young man in Ealdor; long limbs that flail about not unlike the skittish foals that chase after their mothers in the spring. He’s not used to seeing a mop of golden curly hair whenever he catches his reflection. It leaves him feeling awkward in his own skin.

And yet Charles still stares. Even as he brushes down Violet, one of the mares the Lady Vivian prefers. His hands are sure, strong but infinitely tender as he works the dirt and dust out of the horse’s coat. With Merlin here, Charles doesn’t need to be so attentive. He could leave Merlin to this work but he doesn’t. It’s evident Charles enjoys spending time with the horses, enjoys his job.

Charles is a content man. As coachman he is afforded more luxury than most of the other servants employed here. He’s worked up to his station, starting out as a stable boy - performing tasks similar to those he assigned Merlin - up to groom - which is what Merlin technically is - to this. And now Charles has the ear of their Master. He is trusted to pick out and purchase the finest horses money can buy, is in charge of staffing the stables as he pleases, and runs the inner workings of life in the stables.

It’s actually a miracle he let Merlin on. Charles had only done so because the Lady Vivian knew of Merlin’s reputation with horses and needed a job, a place to stay. Lady Vivian is a kind woman, not unlike Gwen in temperament and beauty.

She is so kind she had rooms built off the stable for Charles to use as his own; his private place to escape the madness of the servants’ quarters.

Of course, such an action has caused talk amongst the staff. If maybe Charles isn’t serving the lady of the house in a different way. In the short time Merlin has been here, he’s heard all the assumed sordid details. They see Charles’s good looks, the way the Lady looks at him and imagine the worst.

But when Merlin looks at Charles, blue eyes downcast as he cleans Violet’s shoe, Merlin just can’t see him involved with her that way. For all he is a commanding figure amongst the other servants, Charles is reserved and almost shy. There’s no way. Merlin can’t believe that.

Charles catches Merlin’s stare. “What?”

“Nothing.” He doesn’t stutter, but it is a near thing. Charles makes him nervous with those blue eyes, stare so piercing. He’d only ever seen that look in Arthur on rare occasion and those few and far between times always laid Merlin bare.

Now Merlin sees it too often, whenever Charles is near Merlin. It is too much. And yet, Merlin can’t seem to get enough.

“You look familiar.” The intensity only deepens as he looks Merlin up and down. “Have we met before?”

“No.” At least not in this lifetime.

Charles nods once and turns back to the horse. They spend the rest of the time together in silence.

\--

Merlin doesn’t hold much status amongst the other servants. The newness of his employment - most here have been with the family for years, some since birth - doesn’t help either. So he really should know better than to open his mouth to defend Charles during their evening meal. But when he hears others discussing the unfairness of having to eat in the back house while Charles takes his meal to his rooms, Merlin just can’t keep quiet.

“It’s not what you think,” he says from the corner where he eats.

“And you would know, how?” That’s Helen, a scully maid. “Did the Lady herself tell you?”

“Fancy yourself important, do you boy?” And that’s Sarah, the cook.

Merlin sees others nodding their heads and casting angry glares at him.

“Why do you care, anyway?” It’s Gary, one of the footmen. “D’ya think the Lady should take you to her bed instead? Because she chose you to come here?”

“No -” Merlin tries to interrupt.

“Or maybe…” He doesn’t like Helen’s beady stare. “Maybe it’s not the Lady you’re after. Maybe it’s -”

“Enough.”

The loud, clear voice cuts through the servants’ harassment, shuts them up as if they’d never spoken to begin with. Because Charles is standing in the door, plates empty and on the way back to be washed. And staring down the entire room.

Merlin looks down at his food, no longer hungry. How much had Charles heard? How often does he endure the gossip? No wonder he spends so much time alone. Merlin thought it a desired solitude but it looks like it is all but thrust upon him.

As Charles finishes washing up and turns to leave again, Merlin hears muttering start up. They grow brave in his departure. But before Charles leaves, he turns and clears his throat.

“Henry, I need your help with on of the horses.”

“Alright.”

“Bring your food, you can finish it on the way.” He walks out before Merlin can so much as mutter a quiet, “oh.”

As he scrambles up from the floor, bread in hand, the talking starts up again.

“Horses need help, my arse.”

\--

When he finally catches up with Charles retreating form, Merlin is near breathless. “You know there will be talk of this.”

Charles stops and turns to look at him. “Does it bother you, make you uncomfortable, what they say about me? What they’ll say about you?”

“No.” At least not about himself, though truth be told he’ll always worry about Him. He can hardly tell Charles that, though.

“Then let them talk.”

\--

From that night on, Merlin takes his meals with Charles. They sit together at Charles’s small table, mostly in silence, but still enjoying one another’s company.

The servants do talk, but Merlin mostly ignores their comments. It’s easy to do when a majority of his time is spent with Charles. If he’s not sleeping, he can generally be found by his side, tending to the horses and keeping the stables and other equipment well cared for.

Through all of it, Charles stays silent, almost stubbornly so, and Merlin is at a loss. No matter what he says, how he tries, no amount of talking gets Charles to open up about himself.

“I’m sorry if I’ve inconvenienced you at all,” Merlin says one night during supper.

Charles stops, stew spoon halfway to his mouth, and stares at Merlin for what feels like endless seconds. “What are you talking about?” he finally asks.

“The night you stood up to everyone else, after what they said about you, me...us.”

“Don’t be daft, Henry. I couldn’t care less what those fools think.”

“Then why do you keep your distance from me?”

There is an almost smile upon Charles lips. “I’m sitting right next to you, Henry. How much closer do you think we should be?”

Merlin rolls his eyes, even as he thinks, wishes, they were as close as possible. “You know what I mean.”

Charles nods. “I can’t stop thinking that I know you from somewhere. You’re so familiar to me and yet I can’t place your face.”

Merlin isn’t sure if he resembles someone from Charles’ past or if this is Arthur recognising Merlin. Even beneath their physical masks. He hopes it’s the latter.

“Perhaps i just have one of those faces; average so as to seem familiar to others.”

“There’s nothing average about your face, Henry.” Charles’ voice is thick and raspy as he says the words. It causes heat to flare within Merlin. “Where did you work before? Perhaps we share acquaintances?”

Merlin’s not sure what to tell Charles. Honestly, he hadn’t spent much time fabricating a believable past outside of prior experience with horses. It had been enough for the lady of the house who, upon seeing Merlin with horses, had hired him on the spot.

“I worked for a family,” he starts, “and tended their stables.”

“Why do you no longer serve there? Did something happen?”

He doesn’t know how to explain what happened, give a good enough excuse that Charles would believe. But he still tries. “I worked for a household for many years. Up until the master of the house died.”

Just thinking of Arthur’s death, of releasing the small boat which bore the Once and Future King, hurts Merlin’s entire being. It must show on his face, for Charles’ eyes go soft with sympathy.

“You were close, then?”

“Yes.”

“What was the family name?”

Oh, bugger. Merlin should have anticipated that question. “It was far from here. I doubt you’d know the family.”

Charles looks annoyed at Merlin’s prevarication. Rightly so. “You may be right. Still, I’d like to know.”

Merlin opens his mouth to say something, anything, to get him out of the awkward situation, when there is a knock on the door.

“Enter.”

It’s a surprise to see the Lady of the house at Charles’ door.

“M’am.” Charles bows genteelly.

“Ah, Charles. And Henry! It is good to see you are making friends.” Her sunny smile is so sweet, again he is reminded of Gwen - Merlin could not possibly believe there to be a single deceitful bone in her body. To think she could ever be in an illicit relationship...it’s not possible.

“Good evening, m’Lady.” Merlin stands up, takes her hand and kisses it softly. She smells of rose water and peppermint, so refreshing after being surrounded by the smell of dirty stables all day.

“I hope you don’t mind if I borrow Charles this evening.” She actually looks as though she would leave, alone, if Merlin asked her to. As if she really needed permission to take Charles.

Merlin is confused at the lack of demand. He is also suspicious of Lady Vivian seeking out Charles unattended. His traitorous heart lurches at what seemed impossible mere seconds ago. Could it be possible she has come seeking a romantic tryst with Charles after all?

“Of course not,” he says. Because what else can he say?

Merlin stands to go, feels a hand on his wrist, and turns to see Charles’ concerned eyes. “Henry -”

But Charles doesn’t finish his thought. Merlin gently pulls free of the grip, bids them both goodnight and leaves.

\--

The day is hot. The kind of heat that leaves a person sticky and irritable. It’s affecting the horses to the point Merlin keeps them in the shade of the stables, ordering the stable boy to keep the cool water coming frequently. He hasn’t seen Charles since he left last night. It’s odd for the older man to be absent but Merlin doesn’t question it...doesn’t want to.

Instead Merlin escapes to the small creek that backs up to the property and strips out of his filthy, sweaty clothes. He lays them upon a rock to dry in the sun and goes splashing into the cold water. It’s such a delicious contrast, his skin erupting into goosebumps and shivers racing down his spine and limbs.

He spends long minutes letting the gentle current break up the dirt coating his skin and wash it away. Taking a bracing breath, Merlin plunges under completely, lets the water swallow him up. When he emerges he feels refreshed and cool all over. He wishes he could stay here all afternoon but Merlin knows Charles will eventually come looking for him. Merlin doesn’t want Charles to think he’s a lazy layabout.

Getting out of the water is a chore. He’s already drying under the harsh sun, lies down on the grass so he can’t get his clothes wet, and stares up at the cloudless sky. He lays there and thinks. Thinks about Charles and the way his eyes linger on Merlin. Thinks about the Lady coming to call upon Charles in the evening. Thinks about Charles’ hesitation. But thinking gets him nowhere. So Merlin rolls up to get his feet under him. As he stands, arms thrown up over his head in a stretch that makes his back pop, he hears a low groan.

“Who’s there?” he calls out, forgetful of his nudity and only concerned for his safety.

“It’s only me.”

The voice has Merlin turning around so quickly he nearly loses his footing.

“Charles?”

“Hello, Henry.”

Charles stands there, hair and clothes dark with sweat. His blue eyes are roaming up and down Merlin’s body - first quickly as if unsure where to look  and then slower, lingering.

The heat in that gaze scorches Merlin more than the sun.

“What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.”

“Well, you’ve found me.”

“Yes. Yes I have,” Charles says, voice low and thick.

It makes Merlin’s blood pound and pulse until he feels his body begin to react, begin to stir.

Shit. He’s still naked. Merlin stumbles for his clothes, mumbles an apology.

“You don’t need to apologise to me, Henry.” And suddenly Charles is right there next to Merlin. Grabbing Merlin’s hand as he reaches for his clothes. “I wanted to apologise to you and explain about last night.”

Charles keeps his hand on Merlin until Merlin is sure the touch is burning his flesh as it sends heat coursing down to his hardening prick.

“You don’t have to.”

He wishes Charles would let go, let Merlin get dressed before he embarrasses himself even more.

“I do. Last night was not what you think. The Lady and I are not involved.”

“I never said you were.”

Charles bestows a rare smile upon Merlin . “You didn’t have to. The thought was written all over your face.”

Merlin is ashamed at being so easily read. “Then what were you doing?”

“Lady Vivian has requested I help her daughter train with the horses. The Master doesn’t approve so she comes to me in confidence, at night when he is occupied with other affairs.”

“Oh.”

Charles’ hand moves - up past Merlin’s wrist, fingers tracing the veins of Merlin’s arms, over his shoulder to the skin stretched over the knob of Merlin’s clavicle. Charles’s fingers stroke Merlin there, eyes bright as he watches his own movements. Meanwhile, Merlin’s entire body is bursting into flames as he quakes, breath quickening and cock heavy and fat between his legs.

“Besides, the Lady is aware of my proclivities. She would never advance upon me.”

“Proclivities?”

“Yes, Henry. Did you not know she chose you for me?” Charles steps closer, drags his hand up Merlin’s neck and holds his face there as he leans in.

“No.”

They are so close now, lips almost touching. Merlin inhales a shaky breath and swears he feels an answering one from Charles. “She said the moment she saw you she knew you’d be perfect; for the house and for me.”

Merlin will have to ponder on that later. Much later. When he’s not too busy closing what little distance is left between them and brushing his lips against Charles’s. He feels a tremble between them before Charles surges forward and takes Merlin in a bruising kiss.

Where Jack lacked skill, Charles is masterful with his lips and tongue. Merlin’s jealous with the thought of Charles kissing others this way. But then Charles licks into Merlin’s panting mouth, kisses Merlin like he wants to devour the younger man and Merlin does nothing but feel.

He forgets about his nakedness until Charles puts his hands on Merlin’s back, fingers digging in as he hauls Merlin’s smaller body so close they stumble to the ground.

“Have you ever kissed another man,” Charles asks, suddenly pulling away.

Merlin can’t seem to find his voice so he settles for nodding. He recognises the grimace and furrowed brow as jealously , recognises it in himself at the thought of Charles with anyone else.

“What else?” Charles’s voice is hard, almost angry. It’s thrilling to Merlin, who isn’t used to being wanted so much.

“Just this, rutting against someone.” And since he’s sprawled on top of Charles, Naked, he can’t help but move against the man. Charles is hard under his trousers. Merlin can feel the heat of him already.

“So no one -” Charles lets his hands slide down Merlin’s back until they cup his arse, squeezing gently yet still causing Merlin to buck violently from the touch. “- has touched you like this before?”

“No.”

“And no one -” Charles dips his head low enough to kiss Merlin’s chin. He urges Merlin’s head back, licks at Merlin’s adam’s apple and bites at the tender flesh. “- has put their mouth on you? Anywhere and everywhere?”

Merlin cannot respond, can only shake his head and wait for Charles to speak.

“I’d like to be the first, if you’d let me.”

Merlin wants to cry when Charles traces one finger between his arse cheeks, no pressure behind the touch but enough. Enough.

“Let me, Henry.”

“Anything.”

“Come up here, then.” Merlin moves to kiss Charles, but the man says, “no. Come up here. Give me your cock.”

Merlin feels vulnerable and exposed as he crawls up Charles’ body, sits on his chest and holds his own prick in his hand.

“Don’t be shy, Henry. I want to suck you.”

With his mouth open and eyes sleepy and dark from lust, Charles looks like he’d like nothing more than to take Merlin into his mouth. So he does it, feeds his cock into the wet warmth of Charles’s mouth. Thrusts as soon as he feels how wet and tight it is when Charles sucks.

“Oh, fuck,” Merlin cries out as he tries to stop himself from doing just that to Charles.

Charles’s only response is to grip Merlin’s arse again, squeeze and pull Merlin closer. Like he likes being used by Merlin.

“You truly desire this?”

Charles nods, giving Merlin’s arse a light smack. Merlin can’t hold back. He lifts up enough so that he can lean over Charles’s head, hands in the soft earth as he fucks down into his mouth. Charles makes little humming noises, lets out choking sounds when Merlin’s thrusts get too vigorous. But, even though his eyes water and his cheeks burn red, Charles doesn’t ask Merlin to stop. If anything, he encourages Merlin to take what he wants. Charles enjoys it, made evident when a hand leaves Merlin’s body. He can feel Charles’s lower half lift off the ground, can hear the sound of a palm stroking up and down Charles’s cock.

He feels that surge of power, like magic, rise up in him and Merlin knows he’s going to spend himself in Charles’s hot mouth if he doesn’t stop.

“Oh God, Charles, please I’m - i’m -” He tries to pull back but Charles doesn’t allow it, lifts his head up and takes Merlin even farther, swallows around him and Merlin is spilling down Charles’s throat screaming his pleasure into the still air around them.

Merlin looks down at Charles. His eyes are closed, lips swollen and parted. He tips his head back and exposes the long line of his neck to Merlin...who wants nothing more than to kiss Charles there. Merlin does, licks along until he feels Charles’ pulse strong and rapid under his tongue.

“Henry!” And Charles bucks up so hard Merlin almost tips right off him.

There’s a splatter of warm and wet against his backside and Merlin knows Charles found his release. He can’t help but smile down at the man who seemed so removed from him. He belongs to Merlin - as Charles, as Arthur - and Merlin belongs to Him. Even the Lady recognised it.

The urge to flop on top of Charles and lose himself is so strong. Merlin’s eyes close, chasing sleep, until Charles says, “I suppose we’d better wash up.” Then, laughing, he pushes Merlin off him and runs to the water.

\--

Later that night, Charles has Merlin on his knees, speaking softly to him, telling Merlin he’s _so good and darling right there_ and _more I know you can_ , _that’s right_. And when he’s close, Charles pulls back, gives Merlin the choice. Merlin wants everything this man has to offer so he opens his mouth and swallows every bitter drop, kisses Charles after, sharing the taste.

He sleeps in Charles’s bed. He doesn’t care what anyone says the next morning.

\--

It becomes habit, the two of them taking meals together, Charles showing Merlin how to drive a coach whenever he’s not occupied driving the family around and letting the other groom and stable boys tend to the horses. At night Merlin stays with Charles, sleeps in his bed. Even when Charles is with the Lady helping train the young Miss, Merlin stays and warms the bed. Waits for Charles to return.

The other servants do talk but never in front of the Lady. The way she smiles at Charles and Merlin is very telling. She approves. It’s strange to Merlin who knows his relationship with Charles wouldn’t be deemed appropriate in polite company. Why, when she had looked at Merlin, had the Lady seen someone, a companion for Charles? He thinks about asking her, but knows it’s not his place. Nor does he like wasting any of his free time away from Charles. It’s been weeks since their first encounter at the creek. There’s a restlessness in his bones, like what they have is too good to last and at any moment, Merlin will hear Charles say his name - his real name - and it will all come to an end. He’s too jaded to think this could be it, their chance to once again restore Albion and help each other lead and protect. It doesn’t seem right that He should be a coachman, however much Charles respects the title. Arthur Pendragon deserves more.

So it is, late one night, as Charles slowly kisses down Merlin’s chest, not surprising to hear news of Charles’s departure with the Lady to the country tomorrow. Merlin feels cold all over, his cock softening at the thought of losing Charles, even as Charles undoes Merlin’s trousers to pull him out.

“What is the matter, Henry?”

With every word out of Charles’ mouth Merlin anticipates hearing his name.

“I do not wish you to go tomorrow.” He digs his fingers in Charless’ hair and pulls until the older man is at eye level and Merlin can kiss the sincerity into his words.

“Neither do I, Henry. But I cannot say no to Lady Vivian. No matter how much she favors me she doesn’t tolerate disobedience.” Charles kisses him softly before moving back down Merlin’s body again.

“But I have a feeling, Charles. As if something bad will happen if you leave. Please, Charles, I do not think you should go.”

“Nonsense. Everything will be fine, Henry. Now stop worrying and enjoy yourself as I suck your brains out through your prick.”

Charles has yet to call him by name and Merlin wants so desperately to believe that this go around is different. That this is it. Because Merlin is happy here with Charles. Even if something doesn’t sit right with him. He doesn’t want to lose Him again.

Merlin closes his eyes, sighs as Charles lick kittenishly at the tip of Merlin’s hardening cock, and let’s himself hope.

\--

The Lady is secure inside the coach. Charles is tending to the horses, checking the fastenings and reigns one last time before departing. Merlin is there, watching, pleading with Charles not to go.

“Please, Charles, I’m begging you.”  Merlin doesn’t know how he knows, Charles still hasn’t called him by his proper name. But he still knows.

“You know I have to go, Henry.”

“Say you’ve fallen ill or the horses are, something. Anything!”

“Why are you pushing this?”

Charles has a point. Merlin has never before actively tried to stop Him from leaving, from dying - excepting the case of the child with the plague - in the past Merlin has been well, not accepting but more resigned.

“Because I don’t think it’s a good idea. The Lady doesn’t need you to take her. Have her ask Julian.” He’s the second coachmen, recently appointed, and Merlin sees his calling as an omen.

“Henry, I cannot stay back simply because you wish it so. Even if I would prefer to stay as well.”

“But Charles -”

“That is enough, Henry.” The Lady is standing outside the coach now, staring down Merlin with a strange light in her eyes. Almost as if… “It is imperative that you let Charles go. It is time.”

And if Charles doesn’t hear anything cryptic in her message, well, Merlin doesn’t miss it. Who is this woman?

“Now say goodbye. You’ll see him soon enough.”

Charles comes up behind Merlin, wraps his arms around him and whispers, “She’s right, Merlin.”

And Merlin knows there’s no stopping the inevitable.

“Goodbye, Arthur.”

There’s a smile on Charles’s face as he leans in and brushes a kiss gently to Merlin’s lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon enough.”

\--

He’s sleeping in Charles’s bed when he wakes with a start. He’s been waiting for some kind of sign, something to tell him Arthur is gone from this world again. He receives one when he feels a sudden chill in the air and hears a whisper of comfort in a voice he recognizes immediately as Lady Vivian’s.

_Forgive me, Emyrs. I did what must be done. But he will return, do not fear._

\--

The next day Merlin packs what few belongings he has and leaves. He doesn’t need to wait around for further confirmation that Charles and the Lady never made it to their destination. And there’s nothing else keeping him here.

**1900s**

Flight training is nothing like Merlin expected. Yes, they teach about reading the instruments correctly and how to manoeuvre, but much of his actual flying is done on instinct. They’re supposed to get a feel of the plane, how it rolls and dives, how to balance out quickly and effortlessly, how not to depend on the instruments and diagrams drilled into the cadets prior to actually stepping inside one of the crafts.

It reminds Merlin of those times on Kilgharrah’s back. Then, even as a Dragon Lord, he’d been dependent on the muscled body under him. He could give every direction possible but he was still left to the unpredictable whims of the dragon’s movements.

It helps him now, as the pilots are coached to fly low, as low as possible, to trust their instincts in case they’re left flying blind. And it’s fun for Merlin, who can’t help but show off just a bit, knowing Anthony is watching him.

Anthony, the University Air Squadron recruit, with too long, windswept black hair and the same blue eyes Merlin would recognize anywhere.

He’d first seen Anthony on the boat to Newfoundland. They were in the midst of a drill, life belts on, when Anthony had walked by. It was all Merlin could do to not follow him because Merlin knew it was Arthur strutting by with his friends. Even still, Merlin stood motionless too long, watching this stranger pass. Long enough that Anthony must have felt Merlin’s eyes on him, turned and smiled so softly Merlin was left dumbstruck.

“Lucky long haired boys, getting Mae Wests,” Jonathan had bemoaned next to him. It was enough to pull Merlin back into the drill.

\--

The next time he’d seen Anthony was through the mist spraying up from Niagara Falls. He looked so beautiful, even with his hair flat against his skull and shivering from the crisp, early Autumn air.

They were too far apart, in different groups, to exchange words but there had been that soft smile again as Merlin stared. Merlin tingled all over because of it.

\--

It wasn’t until they’d boarded a train to Albany, Georgia that they’d actually met. He’d been sitting alone in a car, head pressed against the glass of the window and weak sunlight casting his face in shadow when Merlin happened upon him.  Merlin didn’t even think before entering, sitting down opposite him and speaking.

“Hello.”

“Do I know you?”

“I’m Brian,” Merlin had answered.

“Anthony.” But there’d been a frown on his face, as if the answer hadn’t been sufficient, and Merlin’s heart stuttered for a second at the look.

Of course, then the frown had disappeared, replaced by a goofy looking grin. “My friends call me Tony, though.”

“So what should I call you?”

And Merlin could’ve sworn Anthony’s eyes darkened, the goofy grin turning mischievous.

“Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

\--

Since then, Merlin and Anthony have formed a friendship...of sorts. There’s a bit of healthy competition between RAF and University Air Squadron recruits. Enough that they don’t mix as much as Merlin would like. Still, he makes the time to seek Anthony out, tease him about how long it took him to get off the ground, how shaky his landing was.

“Shut up, Brian. We can’t all be as good as you,” Anthony complains as he carries his food to a table of his friends.

“Very true.”

“And we can’t all be as humble as you, either.”

Merlin lets out a loud guffaw, feet following behind Anthony without realising it.

“Uh,” Anthony starts as he reaches his table. His friends are all staring up at Merlin like he’s crazy.

“Oh. Right. So I guess I’ll -” and he sticks his thumb out and points in a direction that’s...anywhere but here.

“You could sit with us, if you want.”

“Tony,” one of his friends hisses.

“Nah, ‘sokay.” Merlin wants to bury his face in the bowl full of odd stew - gumbo it’s called - on his tray, he’s so embarrassed.

“No, sit. Maybe I can pick up some tips.” Anthony’s smile is genuine if not a little unsure, as if he’s afraid Merlin will refuse.

“If you’re sure -”

Anthony nods quickly and pushes at another guy. “Budge over.”

Merlin sits next to Anthony, heart in his throat. He’s not sure what to say in the awkward silence so he takes a bite of food.

“Hm,” he thinks as he chews and swallows. “Not bad. But I think fried chicken is still my favorite Yank dish so far.”

There’s a sudden outburst from the table, everyone chiming in and arguing over the strange new foods they’ve all been subjected to.

“Personally, I think the peach cobbler’s the best.”

Anthony would think that. Arthur always did have a sweet tooth.

“Anyway,” he cuts in, “about the simulator.”

They spend the rest of the lunch discussing tips and tricks, difficulties and problems. Merlin is so happy he completely forgets to eat.

\--

Tony, Merlin’s given the honor of being called friend now, eventually catches up to speed in piloting. Though he still prefers navigation to anything else. Since that lunch time discussion, Merlin and Tony become inseparable. It becomes a running joke with the others. Comments about being attached at the hip and acting like an old married couple float around them. And it only gets worse when Tony switches bunks so he can be next to Merlin. It’s almost perfect, being able to fall asleep next to Tony and wake up to him every single day. It’s just not quite in the way Merlin really wants. Sometimes he thinks Tony feels the same, the way his eyes linger on Merlin as they strip for morning ablutions or the way he hovers close to Merlin, drapes his body all over Merlin like Tony’s never heard of personal boundaries.

Merlin wishes he knew what to do, what to say to bridge the gap. But he’s scared. So he does nothing. Stays silent about his feelings and makes due with Tony’s attention.

Then, one morning, when they wake to an overcast, windy day, they’re told a hurricane is expected to hit the base. Everyone’s in a frenzy to tie equipment down, secure the aircrafts in their hangers and hunker down for the day. Tony is restless beside Merlin in his bunk. There’s a book in his hand, but he hasn’t turned a page in half an hour. The rain has started in earnest now, with enough ferocity that it feels like the entire building is shaking.

As the sky darkens, Merlin looks at Tony, sees the tight set of his shoulders, how hard he’s gripping the book. “Hey,” Merlin whispers, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Tony tries. But the silence from Merlin must be telling enough because Tony sighs a little, turns to Merlin and says, “not really, no.”

Merlin gets up, takes the few steps needed to reach Tony’s bunk and sits down. “Move.”

The rest of the men are busy trying to distract themselves by playing cards, dice, smoking in the corner and drinking cheap whiskey. No one notices when Merlin presses up close and takes Tony’s hand in his left one, right arm slung around Tony’s shoulder. Or if they do, they don’t say anything.

They spend the rest of the storm like that, pressed together, side by side, exchanging whispered conversations despite the raging winds outside. It’s intimate in a way Merlin’s never experienced before. There’s constantly meet and hold, pregnant pauses filled with possibility.

“Sometimes it feels as if we’ve met before,” Tony confesses.

And Merlin’s heart swells in his chest. It aches for Tony, for Arthur to recognize him. So he doesn’t hold back, says, “I feel that way too,” before he can think better of it. He can’t help but look at Tony’s mouth, lick his own lips in desire. And Tony, his tongue darts out too, mirroring Merlin’s action. It’s enough to make Merlin lean in, eyes wide and hopeful until Tony does the same. They’re so close now, close enough to kiss when -

Silence, sudden and deafening, hits.

“What?”

“Eye of the storm,” someone says.

It breaks the moment between them.

\--

Thanksgiving is a strange holiday but Merlin won’t complain about all the food. The company’s great too. He’s fully intending on enjoying a lazy day off of eating and resting with Tony. But the other cadets manage to convince those on base to hold a dance in order to celebrate. Everyone seems excited about all the girls, the  “Georgia Peaches” that are coming to join the cadets.

Except Merlin.

Even Tony can’t seem to stop smiling. It hurts to see the excitement shining through those blue eyes. So much that Merlin only stays long enough to watch Tony and a few other brave souls try doing the Jitterbug. Merlin leaves, heads for the barracks and plans on spending the rest of the night cursing himself to sleep. Just because the last few times with Arthur’s incarnations had been physical didn’t mean it always had to be that way. That it would be that way now.

So okay. Tony didn’t think about Merlin the same way Merlin clearly thinks about him. It’s not as important to Merlin as simply having him here. Having him and not having to watch him leave. Merlin’s aware, though, that there’s a war on. And they’re training to be pilots in the war. The likelihood of Tony not surviving is too high. He wonders, as he more than a little viciously pulls his khaki shirt from his trousers, why Tony decided to go into flying. For Merlin it was a no brainer. It’s not like he was in any real danger. So why not? It was as good as any a way to kill time.

But Tony...he’s so fragile. The thought of losing him is enough to drain all the energy out of Merlin. He sits on his bunk and just, just tries not to think at all.

He’s not sure how long he sits staring off into the distance, shirt half unbuttoned, before he hears the door creak open. He’s surprised to see Tony standing in the doorway, cheeks flushed red, hair a little sweaty and mouth curved down into a frown.

“Why’d you leave?” he asks.

Merlin shrugs in answer.

“I kept looking for you.”

“Why?”

Tony lets out a little laughing huff and rolls his eyes. He walks all the way in, a little unsteady on his feet, and lets the door shut behind him.

“Have you been drinking?” Merlin can’t keep the incredulous note out of his voice.

“A little bit,” Tony giggles. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

He keeps walking, until he’s standing right in front of Merlin. “Why did you leave?” His hands go to his hips and Merlin can’t help but look up at him and find Tony completely adorable.

All he has to think about is Tony on the dance floor with some American girl, touching her and enjoying himself, to sink back into a bad mood.

“Didn’t feel like dancing, I guess.”

The look on Tony’s face is best described as a pout. It’s ridiculous. But Merlin loves it anyway. He loves even more how Tony moves to sit next to Merlin, so close there’s no space between them. “I wanted to dance with you.”

“Could you imagine me dancing the Jitterbug?” Merlin almost laughs at the idea.

“Not the Jitterbug, Brian.”

“Then wha-”

Tony grabs Merlin and stands, pulls Merlin to his feet and moves closer, until they’re pressed chest to chest.

“But there’s no music?” Merlin stutters out, other hand flailing around. He has no idea where to put it.

Tony solves the problem by moving Merlin’s free hand to his waist and then he starts humming. Merlin doesn’t recognize the song but it’s slow, with a sensuality that has Merlin pressing closer, digging his fingers into Tony’s waist with a desire for so much more.

When Merlin looks at Tony, he feels a thrill race through him that has everything to do with the way Tony’s looking back. He sees desire there. He’s not sure if it’s the booze Tony drank earlier making him bold or not. Because Tony sure seems sober now, fully aware and in control of his actions as a slow smile pulls at his lips.

“Am I a better dancer than the girls you were with tonight?”

Tony leans in. They’re of the same height and it brings their mouths so close. He can smell the alcohol on Tony’s breath, feels it against his lips when Tony whispers, “what girls?” and has just enough time to breathe it all in before Tony kisses him.

It starts off slow, careful, just the slide of their lips together causing a gentle friction. But Merlin doesn’t want careful. He wants to really feel it. He lets go of Tony’s hand and waist so he can wrap his arms around Tony’s neck and really push into it. Tony lets out a whimper, its the sexiest noise Merlin’s ever heard. And it only gets better when Merlin licks at Tony’s mouth, pushes his tongue past Tony’s lips and takes.

Their feet have stopped moving but Merlin barely notices. He’s too caught up in the way Tony melts into the kiss. Merlin revels in the way Tony responds, like his whole body is opening up to the kiss. He can’t help but bring both hands up to the long, silky strands of Tony’s hair, card his fingers through it and tug lightly to better control the pace of their kiss. He can’t let it get too frantic, though, even if Tony’s lips are eager against his. The other men will be coming back soon. Merlin doesn’t want to start something he can’t finish.

Soon, though, he thinks as he pulls away.

“Brian.” Tony’s voice is hushed but loud in merlin’s ears.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since I first saw you,” he says, maybe a little too honestly.

“Me too.”

The admission makes Merlin want to kiss Tony again, push him down on his bunk and kiss every inch of him. But he can hear people approaching, loud in their inebriation. So he steps back.

“Soon.”

\--

Later that night, with the sounds of drunken snores filling the room, Tony asks him, “have you done that before?”

“No,” he lies because it’s easier than explaining the truth.

He watches Tony fall asleep with a smile on his face.

\--

Finding time alone - truly alone - with Tony is near impossible. Their course load is heavy, training intense, and it leaves little time for much else besides eating and sleeping. Even in their precious moments of free time there are too many bodies nearby to risk anything. It’s frustrating. Merlin can look - probably looks too much to be honest - but can’t touch. He sees the frustration written plain as day all over Tony’s face. It’s in the way he grimaces every time someone intrudes just as they think they’re alone. Or in the way he furrows his brow at surprise inspections, surprise drills. Even his posture is more rigid as he goes through his paces every morning.

Too many nights Merlin has to suffer through hearing muffled groans and the shifting of sheets as Tony brings himself off under cover of night. He’s so close, yet so far away. And those nights Merlin always ends up doing the same, biting his free hand to keep from saying Tony’s name.

\--

The American boys love playing their football to relieve a bit of stress. For Merlin it only ratchets up the tension. Because there’s so much opportunity to touch Tony every time they play on opposite teams.

One morning Jonathan - who traveled from St. John’s with Merlin - suggests teaching everyone rugby. All the Brits are split up evenly between the two teams to keep things fair. Naturally he and Tony have to play against each other. It may be early December but they’re in Georgia and it’s warm enough that Jonathan suggests shirts and skins. Merlin nearly swallows his tongue as Tony pulls his shirt off. Merlin’s expected to touch, tackle and generally put his hands all over Tony. In front of everyone.

It’s too much.

By the end of the game Merlin’s not even sure who’s won. All he knows is Tony is drenched with sweat and covered in dirt and grass stains, bleeding slowly from a split lip. He’s never looked more gorgeous.

Tony’s eyeing him up just the same. As if he’d like to get Merlin alone. And fast.

“Good game, Brian.” He wraps an arm around Merlin’s shoulders and hugs him close - completely unconcerned with their proximity. The other boys are in similar states, hugging or rough housing even now. The difference is, their physical contact means a lot more, effects Merlin so deeply that if Tony doesn’t stop soon he’ll tent his shorts and there’ll be no hiding it.  

“Tony -” he starts, when the loud speaker cuts him off.

Pearl Harbor has just been attacked, the officer announces, audibly choked up. And as everyone grows somber, Merlin’s fear grows so intense he wretches.

\--

Flying practice increases. Day and night. It’s unrelenting. But they finish Basic Training and move to Alabama. On to more advanced aircrafts they need to learn to pilot. Merlin feels fairly confident in his skills, does well in dual flight training. So when he goes out on his first solo flight in the AT6A Harvard aircraft, he’s not worried.

Of course, because he’s confident nothing will go wrong, something does. The engine cuts without warning and Merlin begins plummeting to the ground. He finds the hand pump but even as he starts it, Merlin knows it won’t be enough. He calls to his magic, so often dormant these days, and cries out the all but forgotten words as the distance to the ground rapidly shrinks. He speeds up his speech, feels the surge through his body as the magic unfurls from deep within him. The plane levels out. Just barely in time. Merlin is shaking as he lands and steps out of the craft. He’s still shaking as he explains to his superiors about the engine problem and using the hand pump to regain control. They praise him for his quick thinking and calm demeanour in the middle of a crisis.

“Fine piloting, son.”

Merlin barely hears the words. He’s searching for Tony. Tony who is wide eyed, as white as a ghost and shaking even harder than Merlin.

Later, after dinner, Merlin heads back to the barracks, ready for sleep and hoping to see Tony who’s been conspicuously absent from Merlin’s side since that morning. He’s passing an open door, a classroom that’s empty this time of night, when Tony rounds the corner in front of him and shoves Merlin inside. Tony closes the door quietly, but the click of the lock rings out to Merlin.

“Tony?”

He rounds on Merlin, starts pushing again until Merlin is against the wall.

“Tony, what?”

“Shut up, Brian. Do you have any idea how...fuck! I thought you were going to die.”

Merlin wouldn’t have if the plane had crashed. But any other person would have and he’d have had to fake his death. And then he’d have to move on from Tony, too soon and so unfulfilled, until Arthur returned the next time.

But Tony doesn’t know that. Can’t know that.

So Merlin reaches for him, cups Tony’s face in his hands, and says, “I’m okay.”

“I was so afraid, Brian. What if you hadn’t been able to get control of the craft?”

“Sh,” he soothes. “I’m okay.”

Tony lets out a choked off sob and crashes into Merlin, bites his lips and scratches at his chest. Merlin tries to slow him down but Tony only tears himself away long enough to say, “I can’t lose you,” before kissing him again.

This time Merlin succumbs to the almost violent way Tony fucks his tongue into Merlin’s mouth. He’s powerless to stop Tony from tearing at Merlin’s trousers, somehow managing to open them despite a lack of coordination.

Merlin attempts a weak, “what if someone catches us?”

But Tony’s sinking to his knees, “I don’t care. Let them,” and opening his mouth to take Merlin’s cock. Merlin can’t speak after that.

It’s obvious Tony’s never done this before. He tries to take too much, chokes more than once and has a mess of spit all over his chin.  Merlin shouldn’t take so much pleasure in it...but he does. He can’t help the shallow thrusts into Tony’s eager mouth. Tony’s moaning, too loud, like he loves it, can’t get enough. And when he looks up at Merlin, there are tears leaking down his cheeks. But his cheeks are flushed red and Merlin can see the rigid line of his cock through Tony’s trousers.

“Tony,” Merlin warns. Because he’s so, so close already.

The only answer Tony gives is a small nod. Merlin closes his eyes and comes with a strangled cry.

When Tony pulls off he has come dribbling down his chin. Merlin can’t help but lower himself slowly, until he’s on his knees too,and lick it off.

“Oh - oh, shit,” Tony moans and tenses.

“Let me return the favour,” Merlin says as he reaches for Tony’s flies.

Tony goes bright red as he shakes his head, mumbles, “s’okay. I…”

Merlin brushes his fingertips lightly against the bulge of Tony’s prick, still hard, and watches in amazement as Tony shudders.

“Oh.”

“Sorry.” He’s so embarrassed. Merlin wants to kiss him until Tony stops worrying unnecessarily.

“Hey,” he tries, and lowers his head until Tony can’t avoid his gaze. “It’s okay. That was brilliant.”

“Even though I…”

Merlin nods. And Tony’s shoulders sag a little in relief.

“I can’t wait to actually get my mouth on you though.”

Merlin’s pulled into a sudden kiss so intense he wants to stay right where they are and try for round two.

“Me either,” Tony pants against Merlin’s mouth.

With a sigh, Merlin stands up, holds out a hand to help Tony to his feet. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Won’t do having you walk around with a wet spot on your trousers all night.”

“I might need help in the showers,” Tony says, cheeky grin and embarrassment forgotten.

Merlin laughs the entire way back to their barracks.

\--

“Are you planning on staying,” Tony asks as they dress one morning.

It takes too long for Merlin to answer, he’s so caught up in the way Tony’s tucking in his shirt. All Merlin can think about is reaching over and untucking it, sliding the fabric off his shoulders and pushing Tony down on his cot so Merlin can climb on top and -

“Brian?”

‘Sorry, what were you asking/”

“if you’re planning on staying to instruct the cadets.’

Oh. ‘No,’ Merlin answers, because when he’d thought about it before he’d always gotten this impression of wrongness and figured to trust it.

“I’m turning down the offer, too.”

Merlin can’t help but smile. They’ll both be traveling back together, then. ‘That’s good to hear.”

“Yeah, but.” Merlin doesn’t understand why tony looks so sad. “There’s no guarantee we’ll be assigned to the same unit, Brian.”

Shit, Merlin hadn’t thought of that. “These could be our last few months together.”

Merlin doesn’t think so, or at least hopes they aren’t since Tony still knows Merlin as Brian and nothing too ominous is lurking. Even if they do get different assignments, are separated for some time, they’ll find their way back together. Merlin has to believe that.

Still.

“We’d better make the most of our time, then, hadn’t we?”

\--

Of course, because Merlin is determined to spend every spare minute with tOny, there isn’t any to be found.

“I’m bloody exhausted,” Tony moans from his cot. Merlin’s so tired he barely has the energy to think about making Tony moan in more satisfying ways.

Because they’re nearing the end of their full training in America, every instructor is working them to the bone. From sun up to sun down, preparing those who will return to Britain for war. It’s even more grueling than when Merlin had first come overseas, when he’d been unused to the routine. Now there is the added stress and pressure of knowing what is to come. It makes him long for time alone with Tony. Before their possible separation occurs. Merlin finds himself drifting off at night, thoughts on Tony and pleas in his head to find a way together. Pleas that ring like magic words zipping about his head.

\--

“Brian!” Tony’s eyes are as wide as his smile, cheeks a little flushed from exertion as if he’d run the entire way to the mess hall for lunch.

“What is it?”

From the look of him, Tony is bursting to share some news. But he just keeps smiling madly as he sits next to Merlin and gets a hold of his roll.

“Well?” Merlin nearly shouts, but Tony just takes a bite, swallows and leans in close to whisper, “weekend leave.”

The words are completely innocent but filled with such sinful intent Merlin feels his whole body shiver in anticipation.

\--

They find a small motel on the outskirts of Atlanta. It’s private enough that Merlin doesn’t worry about anyone getting suspicious of the two British travelers lodging together. And the $3.20 a night they pay seems like a small price to pay for all the time alone they’ll have.

\--

The door has barely shut behind them, Merlin still clutching his sack, before Tony is on him, hands somehow everywhere and breath hot on the back of Merlin’s neck.“

Tony -”

“I want you, Brian.” His lips are brushing Merlin’s skin, causing Merlin to shudder. “So much I ache with it.”

Merlin pulls away, enough to turn around and push Tony up against the door. His blue eyes have a wild look to them, like desperation - and the thought of it being lust urges Merlin forward, crowding into Tony’s space until their bodies are pressed tightly together and Merlin sucks at Tony’s bottom lip.

A high keening sound escapes Tony’s mouth, body wound tight even as Merlin continues to kiss him, really kiss him, as hard and dirty, needy; a kiss to make up for lost time. To rush things along, as if there isn’t enough time. But, Merlin realises, there is time. For the next 48 hours all they have is time. Merlin intends to use them. So he slows the kiss, lets his lips linger against Tony’s fever hot skin and stills Tony’s greedy hands with his.

“Hey,” Merlin says softly against the smooth skin of Tony’s cheek. “Hey. Come to bed with me.”

Merlin watches in amazement as Tony, moments ago so bold, ducks his head shyly, apples of his cheeks rosy with embarrassment. “Ok,” Tony says, lips stretching into a soft smile.

Merlin takes hold of Tony’s hand and leads him to the bed. He can feel the way Tony’s hand shakes, ever so slightly and wonders, “are you nervous?”

“A little,” Tony’s eyes are downcast.

“It’s okay. We’ll only do whatever you want.”

“Brian,” and, still holding Merlin’s hand, Tony looks up into his eyes and says, “I want to do everything with you.”

Merlin can’t help but kiss Tony then, kiss him long and slow until the shaking in Tony’s hand stops and Merlin can pull him gently down to the bed.

They undress each other slowly, albeit a bit awkwardly, reveling in all the exposed skin. It’s nothing they’ve never seen before. Between showers and the few times they’d found together there are few mysteries left. But they’ve never had the luxury to drink everything in. Every scar and mole, every cut and flex of muscle. It’s a wonder to watch the way Tony reacts to a simple brush of fingertips or a lingering open mouthed kiss.

“I want to suck your cock,” Merlin says, delighting in the flush that creeps over Tony’s chest. “Will you let me?”

“Yes,” Tony chokes out. “Yes, of course.”

Merlin watches Tony’s face as he slowly kisses down the pale, lean torso in front of him. He  bites down on Tony’s hip bone, just hard enough to feel, to make Tony arch into the sensation, and continues his journey. Tony is trembling again, this time in anticipation, as Merlin reaches his hard cock. Merlin kisses along the shaft, licks lightly and enjoys the muffled cursing coming from Tony’s mouth. When Merlin takes Tony completely in his mouth, Tony lets out a loud cry.

“Sh,” Merlin manages to say through his mouthful. They can’t be too loud. If they were suspected...well, it doesn’t bear thinking about.

Tony nods, jaw clenched tight and fingers clutching at the sheets. This time, when Merlin begins to move his head again, swallows around the head of Tony’s cock, Tony’s back bows off the bed so severely it almost looks painful. But he does stay quiet.

\--

“What about you?” Tony asks some time later, still stretched out and dazed from coming down Merlin’s throat.

Merlin likes seeing Tony like this, completely relaxed and unabashed in his afterglow. He could spend every day with Tony like this, wants to desperately. They wouldn’t even need to have sex. Well, at least not often. Just being together is enough.

He closes the distance between them, drapes himself over Tony’s body and sighs happily. “I’m fine,” he replies. Because he is.

Merlin lies there in the quiet, listening to Tony’s breaths slow and even out into slumber. Until his own eyes droop and he too drifts off to sleep.

\--

When Merlin wakes, it’s dark outside. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, certainly not let Tony sleep that long, but they’d clearly both needed the rest. Still, most of the first day is already gone. Too fast.

He takes a moment to look at Tony’s face relaxed in sleep. He’s so young, Merlin thinks, and yet Merlin still sees so much of Arthur in him - despite the differences in physical attributes. It’s Tony’s intensity, his focus in whatever he’s chosen to do. He’s strong like Arthur, though not as broad, and has a (not so, to Merlin anyway) surprisingly soft side. But where Merlin really sees the similarities is in the private looks Tony shares with him. The ones that are accompanied by smiles that tell entire stories. Merlin wonders now, looking back, if Arthur hadn’t thought about Merlin as more than just his closest friend. Maybe, if Merlin had just taken a chance…

But thinking that way does no good. And for all that could have been, Merlin’s grateful for what he has now. This, he thinks as he reaches out to skim his fingers across Tony’s clavicle, is more than he ever imagined possible. And the centuries of pain and confusion have led him here, for this. He’s certain.

Merlin really hopes now, more than ever, that he can keep this.

“Hey.” Tony’s sleep rough voice startles Merlin of his thoughts. “What time is it?”

“Just after 1900 hours.”

Tony rubs the sleep from his eyes, looking so cute Merlin can’t help himself. He leans down and kisses Tony, stale breath and all.

“We should eat something,” Tony tries.

But Merlin just kisses him quiet. They can eat later.

\--

He’s got Tony pinned to the bed underneath him, their naked bodies slick with sweat and rubbing together, when Tony lets out a moan and, “I want you to fuck me.”

Merlin stills, letting the words sink in, and then kisses Tony so savagely he’s afraid he’ll draw blood if he doesn’t stop.

“You know I’ve never done anything like this before,” Merlin confesses. Because for all he’d done in past lifetimes, it’d never reached this point.

“That’s okay,” Tony smiles up at him. “Me either. We can learn together, yeah?”

Merlin...loves this man. Fiercely. It’s a burning inside that threatens to consume him with every passing day. Merlin wonders if joining their bodies together like this will help quench to fire or just fan the flames.

Either way, he’s going to find out.

\--

Tony is writhing underneath Merlin, three fingers stuffed up his arse and moaning like it’s all too much. Merlin can’t tear his eyes away from the site of Tony; flushed and sweaty, cock thick and leaking, hole slick and shiny from the petroleum jelly Merlin had brought. He looks so good like this, Merlin thinks, like he was meant for this.

Shit, if Merlin doesn’t get inside Tony soon, he’ll blow before anything happens.

Tony must sense Merlin’s need because he looks up at Merlin and just begs for it. “Please, Brian. Please give me more.”

Merlin pulls his fingers out slowly, tries to wipe them off but gives it up as a bad job. “Ready?”

“Yes.” Tony all but yells at him.

Merlin leans down to kiss Tony quiet as he lines himself up. He’s scared of hurting Tony, a little hesitant and timid, but as he slowly pushes inside, hears the way Tony inhales sharp and quick Merlin forgets his fear. All he knows is the tight heat of Tony’s body opening up for Merlin, accepting him like it’s where Merlin belongs.

“Move, please,” Tony whispers.

It’s almost too much, already. Because it’s him, it’s Arthur deep down at heart, and Merlin has him to take and use.

“Ar-Ar-” he stutters and stops, too close to saying the wrong name. “Are you okay?”

Tony nods just once but urges Merlin closer by wrapping his legs around Merlin’s waist and tugging.

“Intense.”

“Yes,” Merlin grunts as he moves faster.

Not just intense, overwhelming. Merlin’s never felt anything like this before. So all consuming, it’s like his entire body and soul is lit up, so bright he wonders if he’s actually glowing. Every corner of his mind, every tendril of magic inside him is stretching out towards Tony, as if hoping to twine around the man beneath him and join them even more completely.

The desire to have that, a bond deeper than the physical, is so strong Merlin cries out, pumps his hips faster and feels climax hit - overpowering and sudden - emptying himself inside Tony.

Merlin can’t move, can barely breathe for several long seconds after that. When he at long last catches his breath, feels the magic settled back inside his own body, Merlin looks down at Tony -every intention of finishing him off.

But Tony underneath him is completely spent, a mess of come all over his heaving chest. “Is it always,” Tony gasps, “I mean - that was -” and he stops himself to sigh, apparently at a loss for words.

Merlin doesn’t think this is common, not at all. “Maybe just for us.”

Tony smiles at that. “Didn’t even need to touch myself, Brian. Damn.”

Merlin finally manages to roll off Tony but stays close needing to touch as much as possible, like he can’t physically bear to be away. Judging by the way Tony clings back, Merlin thinks he feels the same.

“M’hungry, Brian,” Tony mumbles into the pillow.

Merlin thinks about getting up and cleaning off but yawns so hugely his jaw cracks. “Maybe more sleep first?”

Tony doesn’t answer, he’s asleep so fast.

\--

Sunday goes by too fast. Tony and Merlin go to the closest diner for breakfast, steadfastly keeping their hands to themselves as they eat. It’s hard, especially with the way Tony keeps looking at him, licking his lips and shifting in his seat like he can’t quite get comfortable but smiling like he’s pleased about it.

Merlin eats as fast as he can without making himself sick, pays, then all but hauls Tony out of his seat - pancakes only half finished.

His lips are on Tony’s the minute they’re alone and Tony, he just laughs. Like this had been his plan all along. They don’t fuck again, Tony’s too sore, but Merlin doesn’t mind. Especially not when, with his hand wrapped around both their cocks, he whispers, “next time I want your cock in my arse,” and Tony comes all over Merlin’s hand.

Merlin doesn’t want to fall asleep that night, doesn’t want to waste their precious remaining alone time together, but they’re both wrung out, yawning into sluggish kisses. So he pulls away, wraps his arms around Tony and tells him to sleep.

Tony lets out a soft, content sigh. Merlin thinks he’s already drifted off when Tony murmurs, “I love you, Brian.”

He’s wanted to hear those words for so long now. But it’s a bittersweet moment because they’re being said to Brian, not Merlin. And now that he’s heard them, Merlin finds himself wondering if and when He will ever say them.

\--

As it turns out, Tony and Merlin aren’t separated. They’re back in Bournemouth together, looking forward to a five day leave before going to Gloucestershire to instruct an Advanced Flying unit, when a hit and run raid demolishes a hotel just blocks from where they’re staying. Instead of having nearly a  week to spend together, Merlin making good on his promise of “next time,” they spend their days clearing rubble and helping civilians.

“Oh well,” Tony coughs out through the dust that’s stirred up as they remove huge chunks of concrete. Covered in dirt and soot, he’s somehow still so incredibly handsome. Merlin is struck dumb in his presence.

“Don’t just stand there, lazy,” he calls to Merlin, the smallest of smirks pulling at his mouth.

With a roll of his eyes, Merlin bends to move the closest rock. If only Tony knew, Merlin laughs to himself, what Merlin is capable of. If only he knew that not only could Merlin move all of this rubble without breaking a sweat, he could also do so much more in the effort to end this war.

You know you can’t, comes a sighing voice in his head.

Obviously, he knows. It was just a thought.

\--

“Sergeant Everson,” Tennant calls out to Merlin. “I want you flying No. 2 today with Nill.”

Merlin tries to squash down the sense of disappointment at being partnered up with someone other than Tony. They haven’t actually ever flown together but Merlin knows they’d get on well. He’ll just have to work harder at convincing others that it’s true.

For now, however, he focuses on the Peashooter exercise. They’re instructed to flow low to the ground, shooting at tanks with .303 machine guns. It’s dangerous, as any exercise using live ammunition can be, but when Tennant’s Mosquito ahead of them doesn’t pull up in time before colliding with a tank, Merlin really let’s it sink in how close everyone - especially Tony - is to death.

He’s called in for an inquiry to give a full report of what happened. It doesn’t take long, though everyone is still shaken up over the casualty. And when Merlin steps out of the room and finds Tony waiting, he knows Tony is thinking back to Georgia. To when he thought Merlin was about to die.

“Not here,” Merlin heads him off. “Follow me.”

They speed towards the bathrooms, finding them empty. Tony’s shoving Merlin into the corner of the room, kissing him breathless before Merlin can so much as get another word in.

“Stop scaring me,” Tony whispers against Merlin’s mouth. “That could’ve been you.”

“Never.” He kisses the word into Tony’s mouth.

“You have to be careful, wherever you’re stationed, okay?” Tony’s buried his face in Merlin’s neck, shaking slightly. “Promise me you will be careful. Remember, I can’t lose you.”

“I promise, Tony.” Because never will there come a time that He will lose Merlin. Never.

He has his arms around Tony, holding tight with Tony’s face still pressed close to Merlin’s, when there’s a quiet coughing from the other side of the bathroom. Tony and Merlin spring apart so quickly, so guiltily, there’s no hiding what was going on between them.

“Hello Everson. Rudd.” Wing Commander Grodzicki walks over, ever so calmly, and proceeds to relieve himself.

Merlin and Tony stand frozen, red faced and scared, the entire time. They’re waiting for him to say something; a reprimand, a warning, something. But all he does is finish, zip up and wash his hands before saying goodbye and leaving.

\--

“We’re going to be kicked out,” Tony says later that night. “There’s no way he missed what was going on.”

Merlin’s first instinct is to panic. Because it’s all true. Except. Except maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if they were discharged from services. Even dishonourably.  Maybe then he and Tony could go off somewhere quiet, as far from the war as possible and start a life together.

He says as much to Tony.

“That would be nice,” Tony agrees. “But I don’t think there are many places we can go that aren’t touched by war, Brian. And I’d feel guilty not doing my part to help.

He’s such an honourable man. Always has been.

They wait all night for someone to come by and deliver their fate. Nothing happens. It goes like that into the morning, through breakfast and on to just before their next exercise. Grodzicki comes over, just as calm as the day before, and calls out to Merlin.

“If I could speak to you in private, Everson.”

Here it comes, Merlin thinks. Tony’s thin mouth and wary eyes communicate the same thought.

But when Merlin follows after Grodzicki to his office, the only thing the commander tells him is that Merlin is being assigned a new navigator.

“Okay?”

“Is it,” Grodzicki asks. “You did fine with Nill but it seems you and Rudd get along well. I think you two would make a fine piloting team.”

Merlin nearly chokes as Grodzicki talks, especially at his use of “get along well.” He manages to compose himself when he thinks of what an opportunity he is being given. This conversation with Grodzicki could have gone very differently. And even though Merlin is slightly embarrassed, he can’t be disappointed with the result. Having Tony as his navigator is the ideal situation here. This way he can keep Tony safe.

“I think you’re correct, Sir.”

Grodzicki nods once, curtly, before asking Merlin to inform Tony and then dismissing him for exercise.

Merlin wants to run from the office and tell Tony the good news, that they’re fine, they’re safe. He forces himself to walk calmly back, however, just in case anyone is around to see.

\--

“Up!” Tony cries and Merlin doesn’t think, just pulls back on the joystick and feels them ascend.

He trusts Tony completely, knows Tony will navigate them through trees and power lines...or any trains or tanks they’re meant to bomb. Tony has saved them countless of times since being stationed in Epinoy, France. Merlin knows it’s due to Tony’s diligent studies over topographical maps and naturally keen eyes. More than once Merlin has found himself thinking back to nights spent watching Arthur pour over maps and battle plans, serious as ever. Tony is so much like Him, Merlin thinks again, heart hurting at the thought.

\--

It’s early April when Merlin and Tony are briefed for a patrol in Berlin. They’re forced to carry wing tanks with extra fuel because of the long distance from base to patrol area. They’re safely inside the Mosquito Letter V, all calm on the ground below them, when Merlin gets this feeling. It’s like a fever coming on, hot and all consuming. Merlin feels the fear churn in his gut as the continue cruising, like his body - or more likely his magic - knows something is approaching.

Movement from below catches Merlin’s eye and they circle back around to drop flares on enemy transport. They hit it with machine gun and cannon fire, enough so that it definitely took damage. How much, though, is uncertain because suddenly, inexplicably, their flares go out. The fear in Merlin ratchets up to something riotous and overwhelming.

“Go lower, Brian, we need to check for damage report.”

Merlin knows that’s what they’re supposed to do. He also knows something bad is about to happen, though. He really doesn’t want to get closer.

There’s a sudden flash of bright light in front of them, a long burst of cannon fire from a previously hidden night fighter.

“Shit!” Merlin yells and grabs the controls tightly, trying to evade fire.

He’s not fast enough. They take damage to their port engine, flames already beginning to spread. Without a word, Tony reaches for the fire extinguisher. He’s working on the fire when a round of gunfire hits their starboard engine.

“Shit, shit,” Merlin repeats, feeling helpless as that engine also catches fire.

He knows he has the power to stop all this. A few simple words, a lot of concentration, and he and Tony would be safe. But he can’t. He’s frozen, and not from fear or indecision. It’s the same incapacity he’s felt whenever he’s tried using his magic to save Him in the past. Like someone, or something, is restraining him.

This time, Merlin screams out a snarled, “fuck,” as he grabs the extinguisher from Tony and tries his hardest to make a difference.

It’s not enough, though. It was never going to make a difference. Not when Tony’s fate has already been decided for him. But Merlin will be damned if he’s letting them take Tony without a fight.

“It’s no use, Tony.”

Blue eyes turn to Merlin. There’s no fear there, only a sort of bone deep sadness. Like Tony knows.

“We need to bale out.”

Tony nods and grabs his chute. And waits for Merlin. But Merlin was never planning on jumping with Tony. He needs to stay and keep the plane level, keep them out of distance from enemy fire, if he’s going to keep Tony safe and alive.

“Go ahead, Tony. I’ll be right behind you.”

“I’m not leaving without you, Brian.”

“Tony,” Merlin cries out exasperated. “I need you to jump now. Please!”

He can see tears in Tony’s eyes. “You promised, Brian.”

“I know. And I’m promising you again. I’ll be fine. I’ll jump as soon as I make sure you’re okay. But I need you to go first or neither of us will make it. Okay?”

Tony stands there, hunched over with hands gripping the straps of his chute pack tightly. He looks like he wants to argue more, but then his entire body goes limp in resignation. “Okay.”

Merlin thinks that’s it, that Tony will jump now. Instead, Tony surges forward and kisses Merlin hard. “I love you, Merlin. I promise I will find you out there, no matter what.” And then he’s jettisoning the door, jumping, and gone.

\--

Later, when Merlin is crawling through snow and hears voices of German officers approaching, he doesn’t bother hiding. What’s the point? Tony is gone. He is gone. Merlin doesn’t need the gruff German pointing his gun in Merlin’s face saying, “your comrade kaput,” to know that.

He thinks about giving up as he’s being led to a P.O.W. camp. Merlin didn’t think it would hurt so much to hear Tony say his real name, minutes  before jumping to his inevitable death. But it does. It hurts more than anything Merlin has ever experienced. It’s so painful the thought of going on is torturous.

But upon arriving at camp, he sees his fellow prisoners; strong, capable men being fed less than scraps for dinner. And Merlin swears he can hear Arthur in his head, speaking to him. Telling him he can’t give up. That these men need help. That he can’t let the enemy win.

Merlin swallows through a painfully dry throat, heart beating fast in his chest and says, “okay.”  He gives himself a few minutes to feel sorry for himself. Then he gets to work.

\--

By the time American soldiers find the camp, Merlin has led his fellow prisoners in a revolt. They’ve managed to gain control of the Germans’ weapons, tying up their owners and keeping a watchful eye lest they try to escape. The Americans are suitably impressed, praising Merlin for his ingenuity and leadership skills.

Merlin sighs, thinking about the most impressive man he’s ever known, who taught Merlin all he knows about being a true leader. Merlin hopes He will find him again soon.

**2000s**

It’s not the smartest thing he’s done in all his lifetimes - wearing his own face - especially considering his chosen profession, but Merlin doesn’t care. And there was never that voice telling him to stop, that it went against the fates or whatever, so Merlin thinks it’s okay. It’s fine.

Whatever, either way Merlin is doing this, making a living, a name for himself this time. Call it selfish. He really doesn’t care.

He’s too good and it’s too easy for Merlin. It just comes naturally. He’s lived so many lifetimes, has had so much first hand experience he can pretty much do anything. Be anyone. You’re an old soul, so many of his professors and critics had told him as he was going through school. Mature for your years, like that explained his talent. Still, It’s nice to have the recognition of others, spurring him on to accept new challenges. As long as Merlin really wants something, believes in it, he’ll go after it. And he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get the job.

And Merlin...Merlin really wants this job. Believes in it.

Still, going in to audition for this particular show is really not smart at all and he knows it. He just can’t help himself.

He’s not even really suited for the part, not really. But he knows everything there is to know about the character. He’s somewhat of a self appointed expert, at least he likes to tell people he is. So who better to play him than Merlin?

Nerves still wash over him, though, as he waits in the corridor outside the room where he’ll read the part. He taps his feet, jiggles his legs restlessly as the minutes tick by. If he closes his eyes, Merlin can see the castle, the man he called friend, bickering at him about the state of His armour one minute then entrusting Merlin with His deepest secrets the next. Merlin can hear his voice, exactly as it was then, loud and commanding, quiet and afraid, soft and sweet.

With a sigh, Merlin pulls himself out of the thoughts that still hurt, run together with memories of every century since Camelot. It’s too much to get lost in, at least for the moment when he’s supposed to be working and can’t sink to the bottom of the bottle of whatever alcohol he has closest at hand.

Not that Merlin’s ever done that a time or...hundred.

He opens his eyes and looks around for a distraction. The walls are full of framed photographs, movie posters and the like. It’s not very interesting though, a variation of the same decor used at every studio. But as his eyes listlessly move from object to object, he spots a shock of golden hair at the end of the hall. Merlin can’t see the face but even from the back, the resemblance…

The door closest to Merlin opens and a man pokes his head out, sees Merlin sitting and smiles warmly. “Ah, excellent you’re here! Come in.”

\--

The reading...doesn’t go well. Merlin keeps stopping to comment on the script, and not even his own part, but what the man standing in for the other character is saying.

“What. What’s that face you’re making?” The writer asks.

“Well, it’s just that, he’s a bit too timid don’t you think?”

“Excuse me?”

He tries not to flush because he knows then his ears will go red too and, well, that’s not very professional. “the guy’s traveled hundreds of miles to be here. He’s not going to let some, some _clotpole_ tell him off.”

_Clotpole_ Merlin sees one of the other writer’s mouth, and then watches in horrified silence as something is jotted down on the script.

Shit. Merlin and his big mouth.

“Right,” the producer says once they’ve finally gotten through the entire scene. “Thanks for your time.”

Merlin stands, shakes hands and walks out, dejected.

\--

“We’d like you to come in for another reading,” the producer announces over the phone later that week.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” There’s enough of a pregnant pause, though, that Merlin knows there’s something else.

“But?”

He hears throat clearing before, “we’d like you to read a different part.”

This can’t be good, Merlin thinks as he sets up a time to meet and finishes the call.

\--

He’s sitting in the same room as before, hands pressed between his knees to keep from nervously tapping against the table. Everyone is sitting round the table, same as before, but now there’s an empty chair across from him.

“We were all really impressed with your thoughts on the scene you read,” one of the men says.

“Uh,” he eloquently responds with.

“And thought you’d be a better fit for the titular role.”

Merlin just stares and blinks. Blinks some more.

“If that’s alright with you,” The producer finally breaks the silence.

“Um. Yeah. Yes, alright then.”

Everyone at the table looks relieved. “Great. We’d like to hear you go through some of the lines by yourself first and then try a scene with a partner.”

Merlin agrees, tries not to start laughing hysterically at the irony of it all. He reads the scene in front of him, adds liberally in places lacking the right attitude. The smiles on everyone’s face is a good sign.

Well, he should impress them with his take on this character. Christ.

When he’s satisfied them completely, the producer stands and says, “I’ve got someone in mind for who I’d like you to read with.”

“Okay.”

“Fetch George, will you?” the producer asks a younger man at the end of the table.

Within minutes of this George fellow walking in, Merlin can tell he’s all wrong for the part. He’s too tall, too muscled, with fake blonde hair that clashes horribly with his too tan skin. Merlin keeps his mouth shut about it though, letting the man have his chance.

“You’ve had your fun, my friend,” Merlin says, the words recalling images so vibrant he nearly sees them transposed over the reality before him.

Then George speaks. “Do I know you?” It’s said in this slow, nasty drawl that just reeks of disdain. And it only gets worse the longer their scene goes. This man is doing it all wrong. He’s too pompous for the character, something Merlin never thought he’d be thinking in any lifetimes.

Merlin can’t keep his mouth shut about how awful a choice George is anymore. He stops, looks at the producers and says, “Don’t you think if this man had been such a complete and utter arsehole, I’d have no desire to run into him again?”

Everyone’s looking at Merlin, including George, with frowns on their faces.

“Would you have him say something different?”

Merlin shakes his head. “It’s more about the tone. Sure, he’s a self absorbed prat, but I think he’d secretly be intrigued by some skinny, knobbly kneed nobody who’s talking back to him.”

The producers are giving him speculative looks but ask him and George to continue. By the end of the scene it’s apparent they’re starting to think like Merlin, paying less and less attention to what George was saying and more on how he was saying it.

“Thank you, George.” Both producers stand and walk him to the door. When they come back to their seats they turn as one to face Merlin. “Didn’t like him, did you?”

Merlin pulls a face. “Not really the right type, if you ask me.”

“Hm.”

\--

“Okay, we’ve brought in someone new.”

Two days have passed since Merlin last came in. For whatever reason Merlin isn’t feeling any more positive about this new actor than he had been about George. And when he meets Tyler, Merlin knows he’s right.

“He sounds too bored, too unaffected.”

“I see.” But it doesn’t look like anyone really gets what Merlin is saying.

Still, Tyler gets ushered out the door and Merlin doesn’t see him again.

\--

Another week goes by like that, the producers bringing in different young men to read opposite Merlin. Merlin finds fault with them all. But they always listen to his opinions. Because they need Merlin to get on well with whoever they cast or the show won’t work.

“I have someone in mind for you,” the producer sounds exasperated, sitting in his chair across Merlin.

“Alright.”

“He actually tried out earlier and we’d passed thinking he wasn’t right. But I’ve brought him back because...why not? Maybe you’ll like him.”

“Um.”

“I’ll bring him in, give you two a few minutes to get acquainted before we really dive into things. Sound good?”

Merlin nods dumbly, because what else can he do?

Everyone at the table, except Merlin, gets up and heads for the door. They file out, leaving Merlin alone and wondering just how he let his life get to this point. Sitting here, about to face a poor imitation - at best - of the greatest man Merlin has ever known. If he wasn’t so dumbfounded, Merlin would cry at the clusterfuck this entire thing has become. He should never have thought he could do this. He can’t.

A quick rap at the door pulls Merlin from his despair. “Come in,” he croaks out and stands. When the person behind the door walks through, Merlin nearly chokes on his tongue.

Because it’s him. It’s Him. The same as He was the very first time Merlin laid eyes on Him - fresh faced and cocky with piercing blue eyes and a golden halo of hair that flops into his eyes. It’s the same strong nose, square jaw. And, when he smiles at Merlin, the same quirk of lips that split open to reveal a hint of crooked teeth.

It’s Arthur.

He’s so astonished he can’t move. He can’t speak, can barely think past the chant of Arthur, Arthur, Arthur in his head. For all the times he’s found Him, He’s never looked like this. Not like His true self. Neither has Merlin ever looked the same as he did in Camelot. Except for now. The implication of those two facts sits heaving on his chest, makes him want to fall to his knees and cry.

Arthur, Arthur, Arthur - his mind keeps chanting - and Merlin now wants to rush over and embrace Him. To kiss His full lips, look into His eyes as Merlin calls Him by name and learns His body for the very first time - all over again.

Merlin only realises Arthur, whatever his name is now, has been talking to him for some time when the man’s right in front of him.

“Hello? You alright, mate?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Merlin gets out, even as he fights the urge to touch to make sure this is real. “Got a bit lost there for a second,” he tries by way of explanation.

Arthur smirks, eyes crinkling up just a bit at the corners. “It’s okay. I tend to have that effect on most people.”

And Merlin can’t help it, charmed by something so completely Arthur, he scowls and pushes at Arthur’s shoulder, mumbles, “oh sod off, you wanker.”

At that, Arthur lets out a laugh, this full body thing that makes Him throw His head back, the long line of His neck stretched out and exposed, His prominent adam’s apple on display. It makes Merlin want. But it’s also such a familiar sight Merlin aches with it.

Arthur, Arthur, Arthur.

“Suppose I deserved that.” His blue eyes are twinkling, full of mirth as He holds out His hand, says, “Bradley James.”

“I’m Colin.” And Merlin reaches out, grabs hold.

When their hands meet, Merlin could swear time stops. It’s as if everything around them ceases to exist. He feels a tingling sensation in his fingertips, moving through the rest of his body and filling him up with energy and purpose, with need. His eyes meet Bradley’s and he sees something open. As if someone’s pulled back the curtains, just for a bit, enough for Arthur to say, “no, that’s not right.”

And suddenly, as Merlin looks at him, he sees entire lifetimes in those blue eyes. He sees:

_Eadric_ , so young and innocent but just as brave as He ever was, rushing off to defend the Monastery he called home and

_Alrik_ , strong and fierce but more than the brutal invader Merlin thought him to be at first, friendly and thoughtful and

_Edmundus_ , the first true friend Merlin had since leaving Camelot, who took such enjoyment in their time together but left before Merlin could really say goodbye and

_The nameless old man_ who wandered, telling stories about Camelot and seemed to know Merlin even though he could not see and

_Robert_ who had no reason to trust Merlin but still saved him, at the expense of his own life and

_Walter_ who found comfort in Merlin’s presence, held him like a precious thing and fought off wolves never knowing how easy it would’ve been for Merlin to kill them and

_Simon_ , so small and fragile, who Merlin still grieves for to this day and

_Nicholas_ who was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at, who brought out such desire in Merlin as never before and

_Gabriel_ who had a passion for theatre and kissed Merlin like he needed it, even though it was dangerous and

_Jack_ who fought hard, kissed even harder and was the first man to make Merlin come and

_Charles_ who kept to himself except where Merlin and the horses were concerned and taught Merlin so many pleasures of the body and

_Tony_ who was closer to Merlin than anyone else, in every way, who protected Merlin, cared and loved him and

Merlin loved each of them in their own way. And they are right here, somehow, all inside Bradley and converging into one person. Into Arthur.

Shocked, Merlin pulls back. “What?”

When their hands part, everything around them snaps back into place. Even Bradley is more Bradley than Arthur, more the man who just walked in, who didn’t know Merlin at all. Still, for that brief moment in time, the memory of which will stretch out into forever in Merlin’s mind, Bradley was Arthur. And knew him.

“You’re not just Colin.” There’s a strange light in Bradley’s eyes, one Merlin can’t explain, as he looks Merlin up and down. It’s as if awareness is creeping back in, closer to the surface than it ever has been before.

‘You’re my Merlin, aren’t you.”

If it had been anyone else - if Merlin wasn’t Merlin and Bradley wasn’t Arthur - the words would be completely innocuous. But they are who they are. And there’s weight to Bradley’s words. A recognition that can’t be ignored, no matter if Arthur’s memories aren’t readily available to Bradley...yet.

It’s that irrepressible recognition, the jittery nerves disappearing, only leaving calm warmth, a tingle of positive anticipation, that tells Merlin that finally, this time, hearing his true name come from those lips isn’t the end.

“And you’re my Arthur,” he says, voice full of joy and wonder.

Bradley’s smile is wide and pleased as he pulls Merlin in for a full body hug that seems to last forever. “It’s nice to meet you, Merlin.”

This is just the beginning.

 

****  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> a lot of research went into this fic. i tried to keep things as historically accurate as possible (though did take liberties in some places, as fit with the story).  
> This fic goes through every century since the propositioned time of King Arthur and Camelot. Every century (until the 2000s) ends with Arthur's incarnation dying. They're not graphic, though the 1100s and 1600s mention death by burning, the 1200s death by wild animal, and the 1300s death of a small child. If any of that is a trigger for you, you may consider skipping it.  
> If anyone is interested, the 1900s was taken from a true story of a man's account during WWII as a pilot in the RAF. You can read about the pilot [here](http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/ww2peopleswar/stories/45/a2261945.shtml), as well as find other incredible first hand experiences during the war.  
> The very last section of the story (2000s) ends with very light Brolin. I thought I would leave this out of tags so it's a surprise for anyone who didn't want to be spoiled ahead of time. :D

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for Creampuffsteph's "The Kind That's Not Undone"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2229843) by [twelvegullies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twelvegullies/pseuds/twelvegullies)




End file.
